


From Dirty Paws and Creatures of Snow

by goldenraeofsun



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Familiar Bucky Barnes, M/M, Minor Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, Minor Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Stucky Big Bang 2017, Temporary Character Death, Witch Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 11:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 109,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11850213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenraeofsun/pseuds/goldenraeofsun
Summary: Bullies had mocked Steve's lack of magic for years, emboldened as Steve cast spell after spell that fizzled and died.Steve didn't believe a word out of Bucky's mouth when he said that Steve was the most powerful witch he'd ever seen, but at least Bucky had until they reached Bonding age to convince him of the truth.





	1. Part I

Steve raised his fists, Gilmore Hodge’s taunts still ringing in his ears. “You wanna say that again?” Steve demanded. He looked around the alley for anything that could help him, but he wasn’t hopeful. He’d been beaten up here before, mostly out of convenience’s sake, as it was two blocks away from Public Magical Academy 20 and on his route home. Once, he’d found a trashcan lid that had come loose from its thin metal chain, and bashed it against Gilmore’s head with enough force to knock him down for a minute. Steve had stayed elated over that victory for a full 24 hours before Gilmore had cornered him at the end of recess the next day and bloodied his nose.

Gilmore glanced at Pete behind him and jerked his head forward. “You shouldn’t butt into other people’s business.”

“It’s everyone’s business if you’re being a bully,” Steve bit back, his anger rising as he took in the two bigger boys advancing. “You had no right to say those things to Arnie. Boys can wear the heck they want.”

“And you thought you were gonna stop me?” Gilmore sneered. “Is anyone even sure you can do magic? Everyone knows your practically human.”

Steve could only get the beginning of, “Shut up-” before Gilmore lunged towards him. Steve skipped nimbly to the side, but it put him directly in Pete’s line of fire. He got a lucky shot in at Steve’s gut. Doubled over with the wind knocked out of him, Steve wheezed as he took a step back to get his bearings.

“Looks like somebody gotta shut that big mouth for you, Rogers, since you can’t do it yourself,” Gilmore taunted. He threw a punch that caught most of Steve’s cheek.

Face stinging, Steve looked up at the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps.

“Hey!” a new voice called. “What’s going on?”

Gilmore drew back, eyes widening in shock as he took stock of a new kid that had appeared in the mouth of the alley. “Look at that,” he said, nudging Pete with his elbow. “Little Stevie needs a familiar to fight his battles for him!”

Steve glared at the newcomer, face flushing in anger. His magic sensing wasn’t so great, but he didn’t doubt Gilmore’s word that the new kid was a familiar. Gilmore wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to get in a dig like that. The new kid was half a head taller than Steve, and built of sturdier stock like Gilmore and Pete, with arms about the same width as Steve’s thighs. A normal thirteen-year-old, really, unlike Steve, who still looked about ten on a good day.

Pete let out a loud guffaw and squared up against the familiar, whose face had settled into a severe-looking frown. “Hey, I’m not looking for trouble,” he said, hands up in a placating gesture.

“Then mind your own damn business,” Gilmore interrupted.

But the familiar wasn’t done. “I’m just saying, two against one doesn’t seem very fair.” His tone was deceptively breezy as he squared his shoulders and dropped his hands so that they hung calmly at his sides.

“You wanna even it out?” Pete asked, advancing on the familiar.

Quick as a flash, the familiar decked Pete across the face.

Pete staggered back, and Gilmore sprung forward. Steve was faster. He caught him around the middle and sent them both tumbling into the dumpster on the side of the alley. The metal side rattled with the impact of their two bodies. Steve straightened back up, jumping backwards in case Gilmore was looking to get up swinging.

The familiar strode forward, yanked Gilmore up by his shirt, and shoved him in the direction of the street. Gilmore stumbled into Pete, and they both half-tumbled their way out of the alley.

Steve wiped a hand across his mouth, grimacing as his finger came away tacky with a dribble of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it quickly on his jeans, glaring up at his supposed rescuer. The other boy was still watching Gilmore and Pete take off around the corner, arms crossed defiantly across his chest.

“I didn’t need your help,” Steve told him shortly once he got his attention.

“Didn’t look that way to me, pal,” he said, his face a little red from the exertion. His eyes raked up and down Steve’s slim frame, lingering on his split lip and dirty knees when he was first knocked to the ground.

Steve resisted the urge to fidget and instead straightened to his full height. He still only came up to the familiar’s eyebrows. “I had them on the ropes.”

The familiar shot him a disbelieving look, which he topped off with a mocking smirk. “Looks like a strong breeze could knock you over. Pretty sure if they got a good punch in, you’d be flyin’ halfway across the Hudson.”

Steve bristled. “I said, I didn’t need your help.”

The familiar’s carefully neutral expression slipped into a scowl. “Fine,” he said shortly, taking a step backwards. “My fault for assumin’. Next time you get your butt kicked that bad, don’t be so loud about it. You were disrupting regular people going about their business.”

Steve watched him go, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he let the familiar have the last word.

Steve didn’t tell his mother about the incident when she got home from her shift at the hospital that evening. Instead, he doled out the baked potatoes that had been sitting in the oven, told her all about his upcoming math test, and resisted the urge to mess with the healing scab just below his hairline. Luckily his bangs covered the worst of it.

Sarah probably noticed anyway; she had eyes like a hawk and could diagnose an injury from halfway across the ward. But she was a healer without a familiar, so she had to be satisfied with her position as a staff manager, instead of something higher up in the hospital administration with a better salary. As she told Steve plenty of times, she was more than happy with her position. If she got too caught up in hospital bureaucracy, then she wouldn’t have any time for the patients. And that just wasn’t how she worked.

“And then Mary Ann had the gall to tell me that she was going to take over Ciocco’s case, that I was mismanaging her care when we both knew that you don’t need any magical intervention to treat nausea, vomiting, and a 102-degree fever. It’s not a hex; it’s the flu.” She shook her head and sighed. “It’s like she forgets I’m a witch at all.” She glanced up from her half-finished plate to smile wryly at Steve. “But you don’t need to hear about hospital politics.”

Steve let out a dark laugh. “It’s fine, ma. And you should tell someone she’s treating you like that. Don’t let bullies get away with it.”

Sarah reached over to pat his hand resting by his plate. “I suppose she is,” she blinked. “Being picked on by a bully, at my age,” she said with a sigh. “Who would have thought.”

“Bullies can come at any age.”

“Oh, I believe that,” Sarah said, eyes flicking to his slightly-swollen lip and bangs shoved straight down his forehead. “Speaking of, are kids at school still giving you trouble?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Steve said mulishly as he sliced at bits of potato skin until the knife screeched against the plate.

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah.”

Sarah carefully took the knife out of his hand and held it in hers for a moment. “You know, you don’t have to stay at that school, honey,” she said, looking him square in the eye. “We have other options.”

Steve shook his head adamantly. “I’m not running away.”

Sarah sighed. “It’s not running away,” she said patiently. Her lips pursed as she thought it over. “It’s making a tactical retreat,” she finished delicately.

Steve snorted. “No, I can handle it.”

Sarah’s eyes skirted over the firm set to his jaw and the flinty look in his eyes. Her mouth thinned into a displeased line. “Well, on your own head be it,” she sighed as he got up to the clear the table. “But, if things ever get serious – if your grades slip because they don’t let you pay attention in class, or if your life is ever in danger, I will pull you out of that school immediately, do you hear me?”

“Yes, Ma.”

“Good boy.”

* * *

Steve tried not to stare at the familiars trickling into the auditorium hall. He’d attended their sister Familiar Public School dozens of times before. They alternated between herding witches from Steve’s local Public Magical Academy 20 to across Court Street and down Atlantic Avenue one month, and shepherding familiars down the opposite route the next month. It was the familiars’ turn to host this time, and Steve stood among his fellow sixth graders and prepared himself for a day full of forced socialization and boring lectures on the Bond between a witch and a familiar.

Really, Steve should have called in sick.

He listened with one ear as the lesson glossed over an explanation of Familiars’ evolutionary traits that let them sense which witches had enough power to survive the Bonding process.

The Bond was a symbiotic relationship, but everyone knew the familiar had the final say on their witch partner. They only chose the strongest, most magical witches. Familiars were for students at the private Magical Academies, who all trooped out of high school with a diploma in one arm and a familiar in the other, or so Steve heard.

Roughly one half of witches never bonded with a Familiar, either because a Familiar never chose them, or they weren’t deemed magical enough by the government to survive the Bonding… or both.

No familiar was ever going to choose Steve, so he had no use for days like this.

He did his best to stay awake on the off chance that the witch chaperone ever looked in his direction, but couldn’t help a grateful groan as the lecture ended. After a quick lunch, the teachers herded the sixth graders, witches and familiars alike, into the roof gymnasium for recess.

Steve slunk in at the tail end of the group, hand clutching the paperback he had stowed away next to his lunchbox in his backpack. With a sigh of relief, he spotted a small crawl space underneath the jungle gym. It was right below the skylight, and the natural spotlight drew Steve in like a sign from the heavens. If he angled his book right, he could catch a ray of sun on the pages and keep the rest of himself in the dark and out of sight.

He had read two full chapters before trouble started.

“Check out the weirdo underneath the slide!”

Steve’s hand shook as he turned the page.

The same voice continued, “What’re you doing under there? What, you’re too good to play with us familiars?”

Steve’s forehead narrowed in concentration as he mouthed along to the words he was reading.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!”

Steve’s heart sunk in his chest as Gilmore answered, “What? No, I think that’s Steve. He’s barely magic enough to do anything. He’s probably hiding under there so one of you guys don’t beat him up too bad.” He snorted. “You’ve probably got more magic in your left pinkie than little Stevie does at all.”

Steve slammed his book closed and scrambled out from beneath the jungle gym. “Say that to my face,” he snarled as he marched right up to Gilmore.

“What? You probably belong in one of the human schools. That's just the truth.” Gilmore glanced around, and Pete started making his way over to their section of the gym as well as Vince and AJ. The girls playing jump rope near the sidelines stopped to look on. Gilmore smiled at a nearby boy, clapping him on the back before gesturing at Steve with a casual wave of his hand. “Told you he’s nothing special.”

Steve clenched his jaw. “You’re wrong.”

“Oh yeah?” Gilmore raised an impervious eyebrow. “Big talk for a little guy like you.”

Steve raised his hands threateningly, fingers splayed as he gathered his power. He had no real experience with offensive magic; none of his classmates did yet. He’d seen how action movies used offensive magic, had read about it in novels before. But the rage was bubbling underneath his skin, drowning all logical thought out of his head.

Gilmore just stared, not moving at all to defend himself.

Wind started ruffled the hair at the back of his neck as the air almost crackled with suspended tension. Steve pushed forward, shoving out all his anger and frustration.

Gilmore’s right shoe came untied.

The nearby boy, the familiar who had called Steve out, burst out laughing. Steve bodily tackled him, landing one punch to his gut before someone pulled him off.

With a bruising grip on his shoulder and another hand twisting in his shirt, Steve could barely make a noise of protest before he was being hauled in the opposite direction. “Cool it,” Steve’s restrainer hissed in his ear. “Unless you want a charging ram on your tail, don’t get on Taylor’s bad side.”

Steve blinked at the boy, eyes widening as he took in the familiar’s face. It was the same kid who saved Steve’s ass from that alleyway beating a week ago. “But you’re not allowed to transform.”

“Yeah? Like that ever stopped one of us,” the familiar snorted as he parked Steve near a net of climbing ropes at the other end of the gymnasium. “Don’t suppose I’m gonna get a thank you for saving your butt again?”

“I –” Steve bit his lip. Steve looked over to where Gilmore and the ram familiar were laughing together, casting glances where Steve and the familiar were standing.  “I didn’t ask for your help,” Steve said sullenly.

The familiar laughed. “But you got it anyway. Funny how that works?”

“Not really.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d like that.” The familiar’s blue eyes narrowed as he leaned against the gymnasium wall. “I’m Bucky.”

“Bucky?”

The familiar rolled his eyes. “That’s my name.”

Steve blinked at him, a little taken aback that Bucky had bothered to introduce himself at all. “Steve.”

“So what’s your deal?”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked suspiciously.

Bucky let out a dry laugh. “You go on the attack whenever anyone looks at you funny when you don’t know how to hex a stray pigeon. I don’t get it. Do you enjoy getting your face punched in?”

Steve said stiffly, “It’s what’s right. Bullies shouldn’t always get their way. Nobody should just roll over and let stuff like this happen.”

“So you go make a spectacle of yourself?” Bucky said flatly. “You’re never gonna get one of us that way. We don’t go for stupid witches.”

Steve shook his head. “It’s not about you,” he argued. “If someone had said those things back at my school, I would’ve done the same thing. He waved a hand to where the rest of the familiars and witches were mingling over by the jungle gym and jump rope station, and sighed. “I don’t know what I expected. This isn’t for witches like me.”

“Right,” Bucky said, eyebrows drawing together as he thought something through. “You think you’re too good for this?”

“I’m saying it’s a waste of time!” Steve said loudly.

Bucky snorted. “I’ve met witches like you before.”

“Great,” Steve said sarcastically. “Go Bond with one of them then. Or don’t, if you’re looking for something else.”

Bucky pushed off the wall, marching right up into Steve’s space.

Steve crossed his arms across his chest and refused to back down. He’d never asked for any of this, a familiar with some bizarre hero-complex. Steve only wanted to read his books, get through middle school in once piece, and transfer to some hybrid high school for humans and other lower-level witches destined to be familiar-less. It’d be better. It had to be.

“I think you’ve got to learn to pick your battles, punk,” Bucky said calmly. “’Cause right now you’re picking all of them – Be smart about it.”

Steve blinked at him in surprise. “I wasn’t asking for advice,” he said after a beat.

“What can I say. I’m feeling a little generous today,” Bucky said with a little grin as he walked off.

“You’re a jerk!” Steve called to his retreating back.

Bucky ignored him, but Steve could see his shoulders shake with what he hoped was laughter.

* * *

Impressively, today was shaping up to be the worst day of sixth grade so far, beating the time that Gilmore took a pair of scissors to the sleeve of Steve’s jacket in December; the day that Pete swapped out Steve’s juice for newt oil when he was looking the other way; and when he slipped into a desk after Gilmore tripped him, fracturing a finger.

Today, Gilmore had stolen Steve’s shoes during PE and hid them somewhere in the school.

He had spent so long looking for them after class that by the time he gave up, all the teachers that could have performed a locating charm for him had gone home. He hadn’t tattled because his teachers would probably call Sarah and let her know that Steve was still being bullied. Turned out it was all for nothing because Steve had to call her anyway to bring him a spare pair of shoes so he could walk home.

So here Steve was, sitting on the front steps in the fading light and waiting for his mother to pick him up from school like he was still in kindergarten. He squinted at the book pages open in front of him, not really reading a word.

Steve had spent all his anger looking for his shoes, now he was stewing in a big pile of exhaustion and misery. His mom was still going to find out what was going on, and she was probably going to tell the school first thing in the morning. Gilmore would take it out on Steve, and then everything would escalate. He didn’t know how, but whatever it was, it wasn't going to be pleasant.

Just as Steve closed his book because the light was getting too dim to read by, he heard a set of footsteps slow and come to a stop in front of him.

“Hey.”

It was Bucky, the familiar who had gotten him out of two fights already.

“Hey,” Steve said back warily.

Bucky frowned, tilting his head as he regarded Steve. “A little late for school, isn’t it?”

“A little,” Steve agreed bleakly.

“Uh, what’re you doing?”

“What are you?” Steve shot back.

Bucky pulled a face at Steve’s tone. “My little sister gets out of swim practice at the YWCA in a couple of minutes. It’s around the corner. You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I think you’re lying,” Bucky said. “You’re a terrible liar, by the way.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped. “What’s it to you?”

“I hate picking her up from swim practice,” Bucky said as his face scrunched up in displeasure. “All of her friends stare at me and giggle, and she never leaves on time.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

They stared at each other. As the seconds wore on, Steve’s wariness slowly trickled out of him when the familiar didn’t do anything more threatening than breathe at him. Normally when someone bothered to find Steve after school, it spelled trouble for him. “Someone stole my shoes,” Steve said eventually. “I’m waiting for my ma to come by and get me with a new pair.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “These the same jerks that joined in with Taylor last time?”

“Was that the guy I fought?”

Bucky barked out a laugh. “Fought might be pushin’ it, but yeah. That one.”

“Then yeah, it was the same witch.”

“What’d they do to your shoes?” Bucky asked.

“Hid them.”

“That’s it?”

“Isn’t that enough?” Steve demanded.

“Well, I was thinking tore them up or stuffed them in a toilet.” Bucky took a step past Steve up the steps, studying brick and concrete façade of PMA 20 thoughtfully. “But you just have to find ‘em, and then you’ll be right as rain.”

Steve shook his head. “I looked for hours. They’re gone.”

Bucky squared his shoulders and glanced back. “You sure about that?”

“I looked everywhere.”

“Want to double-check?” Bucky asked. “I bet I can find them if they’re in there.”

“You can?” Steve asked as he slowly got to his feet, the barest trickle of hope lightening his tone.

“I can – if you want my help.” His expression dimmed. “I know how you feel about being helped by a familiar,” he said bitterly.

“I’m not against being helped by a familiar,” Steve argued quickly.

“Really?” Bucky asked dubiously, eyebrows flying to his hairline.

“Really,” Steve said determinedly. “I don’t like accepting much help from anyone. Familiar or witch or human.” His gaze fixated on the concrete steps slightly to the right of the familiar’s shoe. “But, if you wanna help me now, I won’t stop you.”

Bucky snorted, still clearly disbelieving. “Fine.” He sighed deeply. “Don’t tell anyone I did this, okay?”

But before Steve asked him what the heck he was going to do, Bucky transformed. He fell to all fours, clothing and skin quickly turning to fur as his fingers curled into paws. His ears elongated as his face pushed forward into a recognizable snout.

The German shepherd’s tail wagged once before shoved his nose into Steve’s hand.

Dumbfounded, Steve let Bucky sniff his fingers for a second. “Do you want pets?” he asked slowly, still completely confused.

Steve had never seen a dog glare before, but Bucky managed it just fine.

He bowed down to smell all around Steve’s socked feet. Without a warning, Bucky took off into the school, Steve trotting at his heels as the dog wound down the main halls, nose almost pressed to the ground and tail sticking straight out behind him. They passed a janitor on their way down to the sixth-grade classrooms who was bouncing along to music pumping out of his gigantic headphones and completely ignored them, assuming he even saw them at all.

Bucky nosed his way into the Earth Science room, sniffing interestedly at the teacher’s desk for a moment before lunging to the back of the classroom. He jumped up so that he was standing on his hind legs, front paws scrabbling at the back wall near a poster displaying biomes. Nonplussed, Steve stood next to him, eyes skirting over shelves showing a diorama of tectonic plates and layers of the Earth’s crust. He tapped the cabinets at knee level and told Bucky, “I already looked here. It’s full of extra books.”

Bucky spared him one doggy look of exasperation before transformed back. “They’re in the air vent,” he said as he tugged his shirt back into place. He pointed about three feet above their heads. “I could smell it from down the hall.”

“You could?” Steve asked, impressed.

Bucky shrugged. “You should change your socks more.”

Steve laughed, relief coursing through his veins. “Jerk,” he said before punching Bucky lightly in the shoulder. He froze, but Bucky didn’t snap anything back. If anything, he started to smile instead. “It was nothin’.”

“It was not,” Steve argued as he clambered on top of the cabinets. His fingers were just long enough to wedge under the air vent’s metal frame. Gilmore must’ve left it half-screwed in to get Steve’s shoes in there in the first place. Steve grabbed a bit of shoelace nearest the opening, grimacing as his shoes fell out along with a layer of dust. Coughing, he made his way down. He held the shoes aloft triumphantly as Bucky’s grin grew wider. “Thank you so much,” he said. “I never would have found them without you.”

Bucky raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Familiars have to be good for something, right?”

“Familiars are good for plenty,” Steve argued. “They make spells last longer, add to their power, widen their range, and a bunch of other stuff. Isn’t that what you’re learning in school?”

Bucky pursed his lips. “Sure – I just didn’t know you knew that. Is that what they’re teaching in yours?”

“Kind of.” Steve began untangling his shoelaces. “Since half of us don’t take a familiar at all, we don’t learn much more than the basics. There are a couple of elective classes in high school, I think.” He bent down to slide his first shoe on.

“You gonna take them?”

Steve huffed a short laugh as he tightened his shoelaces forcefully. “No.”

“No?” Bucky echoed, but before Steve could reply, he drew back, eyes darting around the empty classroom as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Right, well, I’d better be going.”

Steve stared at Bucky, certain he misspoke somewhere in the past two seconds. But as he went back over the conversation, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what had set Bucky off. Steve ducked his head down as a flush of embarrassment colored his face. Finally, someone had come along and done something nice for Steve, but Steve had messed it all up. Maybe it would’ve been better if he’d just waited for his mother. At least then he wouldn’t have wasted Bucky’s time. “I’m sorry I kept you,” Steve muttered as he stood up.

“It’s okay,” Bucky said tonelessly as they left the classroom.

They walked in silence down the hall, Bucky staring straight ahead.

“I don’t know why you’d ask me that,” Steve said slowly as they rounded the final corner. “I’m not even going to be at this school for high school.”

“You’re not?”

Steve tossed him an incredulous look and ground out, “They don’t let you stay if you’re not magical enough. Don’t you know that about Public Magical Academies?”

Bucky stopped, staring at Steve with wide eyes. “Sure I do.”

“Well then,” Steve said tersely as they stood outside of the school.

Bucky let out a loud exhale of frustration. “But what’s that got to do with you?”

“Seriously?” Steve said loudly. 

Bucky threw up his hands. “I’m just trying to figure out why you of all witches claim to not be biased against familiars, but won’t bother to learn the first thing about them.”

“First of all,” Steve said hotly, “I know enough about familiars. Second of all, I’ve got much better things to learn about in school than a useless Bond I’m never going to have!”

“What?” Bucky scoffed after a split second of silence at Steve’s outburst. “Of course you’re going to have one.”

For the first time in a long while, Steve was momentarily struck dumb.

Bucky rolled his eyes before continuing, “You’ll have familiars knocking down your door to Bond with you. You gotta be blind not to see how powerful you are, Steve.” He gestured up and down Steve’s skinny frame. “Isn’t that why they’re pickin’ on you the whole time? They’re threatened?”

Ice flooded Steve’s veins as the first prickles of shame started at the base of his spine. “I’m going,” he said as he turned on his heel and began hurrying down the steps, mentally cursing himself for ever thinking one good thought about Bucky Barnes.

“Hey, wait – no!” Bucky called, easily matching Steve’s strides. “I’m not gonna just let you walk off without hearing me out. Witches like you are the reason –”

“Witches like me?” Steve spat, a slight hysterical edge to his voice. “Everyone knows I’m barely a witch. You heard them all last time – itty bitty Stevie couldn’t charm his way out of a wet paper bag.” He swallowed. “And you had the nerve to call me a liar.”

Bucky shook his head violently. “I’m not lying,” he said, grabbing Steve by the elbow.

Steve tried and failed to shake off his grip.

Bucky continued, “You’re not much now,” he said, plowing right over the hurt expression that Steve couldn’t help, “but I can smell it on you. You’re gonna outstrip everyone in a couple of years.”

“Shut the hell up,” Steve snarled.

Bucky held on even tighter. “You really didn’t know?” His eyes raked over Steve’s face. “I know you still think I’m lying, but let’s just say I’m not. If you could Bond, would you? Would you take a familiar? Would you take all those classes? Treat your familiar right?”

Steve gave one last futile tug to the arm still caught in Bucky’s hold. He could recognize the same determination in Bucky’s face. He sighed. Bucky was right; he was a terrible liar, always had been.

“Yes,” he said, scowling fiercely at Bucky. “I’d be insane not to Bond and be grateful for it every damn day of my life. Happy now?”

Bucky let him go and mustered the ghost of a smile. “Great. I’d like to put my name first on your list of familiars for consideration.”

Steve laughed, raw and brittle. “That’s a short list.”

* * *

Bucky had to babysit his three sisters two days of the week, and Fridays were family day, when Bucky’s father made it a point to come home early. Otherwise, Bucky would find Steve on his way home from school and the pair of them would head to Steve’s apartment to do homework and play video games. Every once in a while, they’d trek to Vinegar Hill and spend some quality time at the dog park.

Steve had laughed when, red-faced, Bucky had proposed the dog park as a prime hang out spot for the first time, but he shut up real quick when he saw the dismayed look on Bucky’s face at his reaction.

And really, the dog park was not a terrible place to spend a couple of hours on a nice day. None of Steve’s bullies ever stepped foot in this area of DUMBO, and he always had the best study break getting some low-impact exercise throwing Frisbees around for the dogs to chase. Bucky felt more relaxed here than anywhere else; he told Steve that he needed to spend times around dogs, anyway. They were pack animals, and he needed to observe them to know his limits and abilities in his familiar form.

Steve would bet good money that Bucky just liked dogs, but if Bucky needed to hide behind his excuses, then Steve wasn’t going to call him out on it. He was by far the oddest familiar that Steve had ever met, but then again, Steve didn’t have much experience to fall back on.

A month later, for the first time, Steve had someone to sit with when the Familiar School students came to Steve’s Magic Academy. Although they were seated at opposite sides of the auditorium during the day-long lectures, Steve spotted Bucky’s head of brown hair in a minute of sitting down. One time, when Steve was almost about to fall asleep, head jerking up as he threatened to keel right over in his seat, he happened to glance in Bucky’s direction, who started mouthing, “THIS IS IMPORTANT,” incessantly across the benches separating them.

Bucky was obviously jerking Steve’s chain, as the lecture was examining how the familiar’s animal form was determined in the first few years of the familiar’s life by a combination of cultural and personal attributes.

No matter what nonsense Bucky talked about Steve’s future Bond, the day was just as pointless as their last school day together, but at least it was about a hundred times more enjoyable with Bucky by his side. They ate lunch together, and stayed far away from the jungle gym during recess as Bucky gave Steve the low down on all his classmates. Despite Bucky’s predictions, none of the familiars seemed any more taken with Steve’s than they did last month. Almost everyone ignored them, and Steve escaped the day almost completely unscathed.

“Want to come over to my apartment today?” Steve asked as the whistle sounded to get back to class.  “And I was thinking you could stay for dinner?” he added. “If your parents don’t mind. I – my ma will be there.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Yeah, sounds good.” He cleared his throat. “I – you’ve told your ma about me, right?”

“Of course!”

“She knows that I’m a familiar?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I don’t know where you get these ideas in your head that she’d care, but yes, she’s fine with it.”

Bucky didn’t voice any more questions after that. And when school let out three hours later, Bucky trailed Steve back to his apartment where they did a bit of homework before abandoning it and watching a sitcom until Steve had to get dinner ready. During dinner preparation, Steve instructed Bucky to check the water or fetch him another spice from the pantry whenever Bucky started to look particularly aimless. Steve snickered to himself as he asked Bucky for the cinnamon; Bucky was so useless in the kitchen he didn’t even think to question it.

They froze as they heard the key scrape in the lock.

“Ma, this is Bucky,” Steve said, shoulders thrown back and spine straight as Sarah entered the apartment. “Is it okay if he stays for dinner? I made enough spaghetti for the three of us.”

Sarah’s eyes flickered from Steve hovering over the Stove, to Bucky a few feet behind him, sitting at the kitchen table. “I suppose that’s alright,” she said slowly. “When will it be ready, Steve?”

“In about twenty minutes,” Steve said as he scurried to stir the sauce. “Bucky helped,” he added as Bucky shot him a look of terror, left alone with Sarah.

“You made a guest help?” Sarah tutted disapprovingly as she hung up her coat and took off her shoes. “What kind of manners have I been teaching you?”

“He offered!” Steve protested over his shoulder.

“Barely,” Bucky muttered, eyes going wide as Sarah turned to face him. She hid a small cough that might have been a laugh behind her hand.

“So, Bucky, tell me about yourself,” she said as she settled down at the kitchen table across from Bucky. “Steve’s told me a little about you. You met during Familiar Day at school?”

Bucky’s eyes flickered to where Steve was leaning against the counter, one eye on the simmering tomato sauce and one eye on the kitchen table. His arms were crossed forbiddingly across his chest, a wooden spoon clutched tightly in his grip. He turned back to Sarah. “Yeah, that’s right. We met when Steve’s class came to the School.”

“Steve tells me that you pulled him out of a fight.”

“Uh, that’s right too,” Bucky said, twisting the hem of his shirt underneath the table. “Steve was yelling at one of the guys in my class. It would’ve ended badly.”

“I’d say so,” Sarah said mildly. “Thank you.”

“They started it!” Steve cut in before he turned back around and checked on the boiling water.

“So you always tell me,” Sarah said with a soft smile. She leaned in across the table conspiratorially. “Did they really?”

Bucky laughed, a little more nervous than he’d like. “This time they did. But I keep telling him that I think he likes being punched in the face.”

Sarah sighed dramatically. “It’s like he was raised in a barn.”

“Nope, just a Brooklyn apartment,” Steve said cheerfully. “How was work, Ma?”

Sarah shook out her graying hair before she answered, “Much of the same. Tompkins, the man who had the dragon curse, was transferred to the MICU. My potions just weren’t cutting it, and they have much better healers over there.”

“Sorry,” Steve said as he threw in a pound of spaghetti. “I know you liked him.”

“He’d always compliment my hair,” Sarah said wistfully. She shrugged. “But they can help him better than I can, so it’s certainly for the best.”

“A dragon curse?” Bucky asked, eyes wide. “That’s bad, right? Can he breathe fire or something? Fly?”

“Better.” Sarah got up and fetched glasses to fill them up with water. “He started growing scales.”

“Lame.” Bucky pulled a face. “I thought it would be way cooler.”

“The doctor who named the curse thought so too,” Sarah said with a smile as she performed a freezing charm on the top of the water. The glasses frosted over, spider webs of white fractures spreading like an ink stain across the rim of the glass. She set one in front Bucky. “On his first patient, he saw the scales and some claw-like fingernails, so he called it the dragon curse.” She snorted. “Turns out scales are actually the only visible symptom. The nails were because the patient needed long ones to snort fairy dust. Completely unrelated. He died from an overdose two days after discharge.”

“But you’re sure it’s a dragon curse?” Steve asked as he peeked in the pasta pot. “With Tompkins?”

“I’m certain,” Sarah said grimly. “The heart murmur just started two weeks ago, and this morning he started losing feeling in his right foot.”

“Is it fatal?” Bucky asked quietly.

Sarah shook her head. “Not usually. The worst is catching it late, then we might have to amputate if the circulation has been cut off for too long.”

“That sounds terrible,” Steve proclaimed.

Bucky nodded in agreement.

“Usually it’s just a finger or two,” Sarah said as she got up to fetch cloth napkins and utensils from a drawer next to the sink. “But I remember years ago a witch came in and we had to take off her whole arm. Worst case I’d ever seen.”

“How’d she let it get so bad?” Steve asked.

Sarah sighed. “She was from a small town in western Pennsylvania. You know how they feel about magical folk out there. Even if she wanted to go to a proper magical hospital, it would have been hours away and expensive. Luckily, she had already scheduled a visit to her sister in New York, and the sister convinced her to get treated in a hospital immediately.”

“But wouldn’t she recognize the signs?” Bucky asked.

“Of a dragon curse?” Sarah asked, eyebrows raised. “Not necessarily.”

“Why not?”

Sarah pursed her lips. “There’s a reason most witches settle along the costs and in major cities. The people out there… they’re not the friendliest towards us.” Her fingers deftly folded each napkin into a neat square and pushed them to their proper place at the table. “Not violent or anything, just a little afraid. And a little fear can go a long way,” she said. “And if there isn’t a large population of witches, there won’t be enough funding for magical education or magical health care.”

“Really?” Bucky tilted his head as he studied Sarah. “My father’s family lives in Indiana. We’ve never visited them, though.”

Sarah blinked at him. “I don’t think I’ve heard of any familiars that far Midwest. They must be a novelty in their town.”

Bucky didn’t respond as Steve shut off the stove and drained the pasta. Only as he was pouring the sauce over the hot spaghetti did Bucky say quietly, “They’re not familiars. They’re all witches.”

Steve nearly dropped the pot he had just picked up to transfer to the kitchen table.

Sarah’s eyes widened in surprise. “There you go,” she said after a beat. “You know in some places there’s still a curfew for magical folk? It’s outrageous – old superstitions of witches cackling over cauldrons at midnight.” Her eyes flashed. “I would bet that’s why you’ve never visited them before.”

“My dad doesn’t talk much about growing up there,” Bucky said with a shrug.

“Probably for good reason,” Sarah said with a shake of her head. “My parents never spoke about what life was like back in Northern Ireland. From what they tell me, they were probably the last witches there.”

“Is your father a witch?” Sarah asked as Steve poured spaghetti out onto Bucky’s plate.

“Yeah,” Bucky said as he took his full plate. But instead of placing it in front of himself, he passed it on to Sarah, who smiled in approval.

“So your mother is a familiar?” she asked interestedly as Steve passed another full plate to Bucky, who kept it this time.

“I – no, she’s a witch too,” Bucky said before shoving a forkful of pasta in his mouth.

Steve started on serving his own plate, eyes focused on his hands so he couldn’t see the uncomfortable tightness in Bucky’s eyes.

Sarah clucked her tongue sympathetically. “The only familiar in the family?” she asked, eyes trained on Bucky’s face.

“Yeah.” Bucky glanced once at Steve before focusing again on the food in front of him. “Recessive genes.”

Steve frantically wracked his brain for something else to talk about, anything else. Bucky had three sisters, but he’d never gone into much detail about them. They might even go to Steve’s academy, and he felt a large weight sit uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach at the thought. Not because he wouldn’t want to get to know them, because he would. If Bucky would let him.

He glared at his mother for bringing up this topic and questioning Bucky past the point of a friendly introduction. All her patients always praised her bedside manner, so she couldn’t be oblivious to Bucky’s reluctance to answer her questions.

“It’s good that you and Steve found each other then,” Sarah said calmly. “It’s hard being different from everyone else.”

Bucky smiled weakly at her from across the table and shared a slightly panicked look with Steve. “I guess.”

“Ma, did I tell you about the book we’re reading for English?”

When Bucky left for his own home an hour later, Steve breathed a sigh of relief. They never really found their groove again, but conversation continued, overly bright and loud to make up for any tension still lying just under the surface. He’d declined Steve’s offer to walk him home, saying that he had to hurry back and finish up the rest of his homework, even though Steve had watched him finish his last math problem before dinner.

“So,” Sarah said slowly from where she was sitting on the living room couch, half-watching the evening news on mute. The blue light of the screen illuminated the premature lines around her eyes and mouth, throwing everything in shaper relief. Steve clicked off the light in the kitchen and went to sit next to her in the dark.

“So,” he repeated as she ran a hand through his hair affectionately.

“He seems nice.”

“I think so,” Steve said wryly. “Why did you give him third degree?”

“He’s the first friend you’ve brought home,” Sarah said quietly. “I wanted to make sure he was the right kind.”

“What do you mean ‘right kind’?” Steve asked, turning to face her incredulously. He did his best to tamp down his rising annoyance. “You’d think that I brought home a crazy person or something?”

Sarah sighed. “I meant that I wanted to know what made him special.”

Incensed, Steve demanded, “Special like touched in the head?”

Sarah rolled her eyes, hard. “You’re putting words in my mouth, Steve. I was going to say that I wanted to understand what drew him to you. You’ve never made friends easily,” she said, and Steve heard the unspoken ever in the place of easily. “Can you blame a mother for being curious?”

Steve scowled. “Your big plan was to scare off the only friend I’ve brought to meet you?”

Sarah cracked a smile. “You kind of sprung him on me. Don’t expect the precision of the Normandy invasion.”

Steve’s stony expression didn’t crack.

“I like him,” she said as she leaned back, settling her shoulders over the couch cushions with a loud exhale. “He’s lonely too. It’s good for lonely people to stick together.”

“Lonely?”

Sarah spared him a side-eyed glance. “He’s the only familiar in his whole family. Do you know the likelihood of two witch parents having a familiar offspring? It’s about 12.5 percent.” She smiled sadly. “You know, familiars don’t have the easiest time out there, fighting against witches that see them as assistants instead of equal partners. Witches think that they’re superior because familiars can’t use magic until they Bond, like familiars will be too far behind by the time they come into their powers. In reality, familiars have magic that they can use from a young age. It’s just different than ours.” She glanced over to look at Steve, who was drinking in her words with a rapt expression on his face. “If you’re interested in magical social dynamics, you should learn more.”

“I – I never bothered because I never thought I’d Bond with a familiar,” Steve said, face burning with embarrassment.

Sarah frowned. “That’s no reason to live in ignorance about one sixth of the population. I never Bonded, but I still work with familiars nearly every day.”

“Yes, Ma.”

Sarah smiled at him. “Keep talking to Bucky. I’m sure he has lots of thoughts on the subject. He probably knows more than I do.”

Steve picked at a spot of sauce that had splattered onto his jeans. “If you didn’t drive him away forever, then I’ll ask him about it tomorrow.” He turned the television volume back up and flipped to a sitcom.

* * *

The last months of middle school slogged by with a sense of larger-than-life dread. School was the same as ever, bullies lurking in nearly every class and magic that never worked right. But now Steve had Bucky, and he couldn’t stand the thought that Bucky would slip through his fingers because Steve had no experience with friends before. Wanting something with every fiber of his being hardly guaranteed anything; he wasn’t about to take Bucky for granted. Steve had done some research into hybrid schools for people like him, and they were all located in Manhattan. Between the longer commute and hours eaten up by Bucky’s cross-country running in the fall/winter and track and field in the spring, Steve wouldn’t probably see Bucky at all when the time came for them to start high school.

They were in Steve’s apartment afterschool, Steve was ready to tear his hair out.

“Stop, stop!” Bucky swatted Steve’s hands away, nudging him in the ribs with his elbow to knock Steve out of his concentration. “You’re going to pull something if you keep that up.”

Steve stubbornly shook his head and wiped his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. “I’m going to get this,” he ground out, jaw set as he glared at the cup full of water in front of him.

“You’ve tried a hundred times already,” Bucky groaned, and before Steve could react, he swiped the cup from between Steve’s stiff hands and downed the water in one gulp. “Come on, you need a break. It’ll clear your head a little.”

“I don’t need my head cleared,” Steve argued as he snatched the cup back from Bucky. “I need to this water to evaporate. Don’t you have work to do?”

“No,” Bucky said shortly. “I finished it while you were giving yourself an aneurism over this spell.”

“I can do it.”

“Steve,” Bucky said, and for a split-second Steve could have slapped that pitying expression off his face.

“We were supposed to master the basic state changes last month,” Steve said, tamping down on his burgeoning panic. “Everyone else can freeze, melt, and evaporate – this is supposed to be easy!”

“It’s supposed to be nothin’,” Bucky said firmly as he got up to put the cup in the sink. “What the hell are those witches teaching you, anyway? Magic the most personal thing there is. It works differently for everyone.”

“I know, I’m a late bloomer,” Steve said scornfully, grimacing as he the words his mother used far too often in her pep talks, which were becoming more and more frequent.

“No,” Bucky said immediately. He hesitated. “Well, maybe.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m trying to help, you punk.” Bucky threw his hands in the air.

“Not this again,” Steve muttered. He sensed another pep talk coming on, and sure enough:

“What do you want me to say?” Bucky asked, glaring. “I’ve told you for years that you can do anything you set your mind to. And I know you talk big to everyone else, and hit anyone stupid enough to tell you somethin’ different, but you gotta believe it for real, Steve, or your magic’s going to cop out on you every time.”

Steve bit his lip as he stared down at his hands. “How’d you know?” he asked quietly. “When we first met, when we really met, you said that I’d be the most powerful witch out there.”

Bucky pulled a face. “I did say that. Still would, if you wouldn’t deny it every time I brought it up since then.”

“You still believe it, Buck?” As soon as he said it, Steve cringed. His words sounded too whiny, too pathetic to his own ears.

Bucky groaned aloud. “What the hell?”

Steve shook his head. “Shut up. Forget it. I – I’ll try one more time.”

Bucky’s hand clamped down on Steve’s forearm, keeping him in his seat. “You’re staying right here, and you’re not trying that spell until tomorrow morning, or at least until you have a good meal in you.” He sighed, looking away as he ran a hand through his hair distractedly. “And yeah, I still can still sense that you got a whole lotta power in you that you’re not reaching. It’s like nothing I’ve sensed before. Nobody in my family’s got anything on you, Steve. And the teachers I run into at your school don’t compare either.”

“That’s impossible,” Steve said faintly.

Bucky shrugged. “It’s the truth. And it’s everyone else’s problem if they can’t see it.”

“I think you gotta get your eyes checked, Buck,” Steve said with a strained smile.

“No I don’t,” Bucky said firmly. “You gotta start opening your eyes, punk.”

Steve dropped his barely-there smile as his expression turned dour. “I am seeing – failure after failure!”

“I’m talking about your metaphorical – you know what, never mind,” Bucky muttered.

“Try me,” Steve said, voice steely.

Bucky exhaled loudly. “It’s something we sense, alright? We know how powerful a witch is just by lookin’ at ‘em.”

Steve resisted rolling his eyes, just barely. “I know that. It’s an evolutionary trait that lets familiars pick out the best witches to Bond with.”

“Look at you, actually paying attention to those damn lectures,” Bucky said with a smile. “And here I thought you were sleeping with your eyes open. We also sense their potential. Everyone’s powers get a boost after the Bond. We can start casting spells of our own, and witches get to this whole other level. It’s insane.” He met Steve’s questioning gaze squarely. “But sometimes it’s hard to tell the potential apart from the actual.”

“Right,” Steve said, plucking at a stray thread at the sleeve of his shirt. “Potential.”

“It’s all there in you, Steve,” Bucky said patiently.

“Yeah, sure.” Steve sighed.

Bucky exhaled loudly, eyes drifting towards the ceiling as if praying for patience. “It’s hard to explain.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Steve said as he gestured to the sink where the cup still sat, mocking him.

Bucky twirled his pencil around in his fingers for a moment. “Our witch sense is kind of like that feeling you get at the back of your neck when you know someone is watching you. That kind of full-body awareness. It’s more refined than that, but the more powerful the witch is, the more awareness we have that they’re there. It’s not something that you can get wrong. It’s there whenever we run into one of you. I got wind of your power blocks away, did you know?” He smiled. “The first time we really met, when Gilmore was kicking the shit out of you next to PMA 20. I thought someone was in trouble – and I know, I know, you had them on the ropes – I thought that some witch was cursing some poor sap into an oblivion.”

“But you found me,” Steve said sourly.

“Yeah I did,” Bucky said with a grin. “No magic going on at all, just an old-fashioned fist fight.”

“But you knew I was there?”

“Sure I did,” Bucky said. “I felt you like the sun.”

“Like the sun?”

“Yeah.” Bucky swallowed, a pink tinge coloring his cheeks. “I – it’s like every other witch is warm, or a spark. But you burn.”

Steve snorted, ducking his head to hide a blush of his own. “You’re a poet, Buck. If no witch’ll take you, you can always make a livin’ with them pretty words.”

Bucky got up to retrieve his pencil, chair legs scraping against the wooden floor. “Yeah, yuk it up Steve. I’m giving you the mother of all pep talks, and you poke fun at me. See if I ever boost your ego again. Just - you’ve got potential spilling out of your ass like nobody’s business. It’s just a shame you can’t see it yourself.”

Steve sighed. “I wish I could too,” he muttered.

Bucky shook his head and reached over to squeeze Steve’s shoulder reassuringly. “You’re thinking too hard. Come on, let’s watch a movie or something.”

“Wait – I’m gonna try one more time,” Steve said as he got up and snatched the cup from the sink and turned on the faucet to refill it.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Bucky muttered to himself, just loud enough for Steve to hear.

Steve plunked the cup down on the table and glared at Bucky. “Weren’t you just saying I should be able to do it? What, annoyed with my failures already? I would’ve thought you’d be used to ‘em by now.”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair. “You really think that’s what I get annoyed at?” At Steve’s stony glare, Bucky pushed the cup an inch towards him. “I’m annoyed because you’re annoyed, Steve. You think I like watching you get angrier and angrier at yourself? Because, lemme tell you, you’re no walk in the park when you’re cranky.”

“I do not get cranky,” Steve said, the very picture of affront.

Bucky laughed. “Like an old geezer yelling at kids to get off his lawn. Look,” he said as he pat Steve reassuringly on the shoulder, “Give it a hundred more goes if you want. I don’t care. Just as long as you aren’t too hard on yourself.”

“Fine,” Steve said as he concentrated on the cup of water as he performed the incantation.

Water began to overflow from over the rim of the cup.

“What the hell,” Steve murmured as Bucky began laughing his head off.

“Christ, Steve,” he said as he dashed for a dishtowel. “That isn’t supposed to happen, right?”

“I didn’t – no?” Steve squeaked as he tried to mop up the excess water. “We’re not supposed vanish or multiply objects until next year.”

“Well, then you’ll finally be ahead of the curve, won’t you?” Bucky said with a grin. “Damn, it’s still going,” he said as he inspected the sopping dishtowel in Steve’s hands. He picked the cup up, and Steve carefully followed him to the sink with the towel held under his hands.

They watched the water pour into the sink.

“It’s not slowing down, is it?” Steve asked faintly.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Bucky said cheerfully. “The charm’ll wear off eventually, but we don’t need to stand around like chumps watching a cup of water. How about that movie?”

* * *

Steve’s bullies weren’t the only ones affected by hormones and puberty around the end of eighth grade. Bucky got his first date in May with an owl familiar named Dot, and wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks whenever Steve saw him after school. He tried to be a good friend, give him advice about what Bucky should do, how he should treat her. Should he hold her hand? Should he try to kiss her?

Steve had no clue. He’d never had a girlfriend; he’d never even had a friend until Bucky came along.

But there was no way on God’s green Earth that Steve wouldn’t do all he could for Bucky, so now he had his eyes peeled for boy-girl interactions in every movie he watched, every book he read.

Bucky should hold her hand.

Bucky shouldn’t kiss her without her permission, so he should ask first. Preferably outside her door after he walks her home.

Bucky took all of Steve’s advice with a smile, and didn’t point out that Steve had even less experience than he did with non-violent, openly-romantic interactions with other people. He told Steve he was glad that he had him as a best friend; when he asked Becca about what to do on his date, she laughed in his face and said he should maybe take her to dinner and not throw up on the table. Steve bit his lip and didn’t tell Bucky that he shouldn’t be getting dating advice from a twelve-year-old.

But two days before their date at Coney Island on Friday night, Bucky told him that Dot had broken her arm during an advanced flying lesson.

Steve had planned on spending a quiet night in doing homework and researching hybrid high schools online, but that night he texted his ma to tell her not to wait up, picked up Bucky from the hospital, and took him to Coney Island instead.

“I – we can scope out the best rides and stuff,” Steve said at the unsure look on Bucky’s face as they boarded the Coney Island-bound F train, stand clear of the closing doors please. “You’ll take her in a week or two, right? There’s plenty you can do with a broken arm – no swimming, though.”

Bucky nodded, smiling a little. “Thanks, Steve.”

“Of course,” Steve scoffed. “What’re best friends for?”

After the nearly hour-long train ride, they pushed through the gates of Lunar Park. It was a bit chilly out for mid-April, and they certainly felt it as they walked along the boulevard, eyeing the dark waters of the Atlantic and the carnival prize booths with distaste.

Bucky tried one of the shooting games, plastic rifle held up to his shoulder and one eye squinted shut as he aimed for the bullseye. After sending ten dollars down the drain, Bucky pronounced the game rigged, and stalked off with a righteous glare at the man operating the booth. Normally, Steve would have been embarrassed at Bucky’s dramatics, but once he saw how the booth operator wore his smug grin a little too comfortably, Steve just hurried off after Bucky.

They stuck to the rides after that, knocking each other off course on the bumper cars, jumping around on the Coney Island Sound, and slipping and sliding on the Electro Spin. On the last ride, Bucky used Steve’s momentarily scrambled brain to hustle him in line for the Cyclone. Before he knew what was happening, Steve found himself strapped into an ancient rollercoaster built on hundred-year-old wooden slats that creaked ominously on their way up to the first drop.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” Bucky muttered as he wiggled underneath the simple metal lap bar that would keep them from flying to their deaths eighty feet below.

“You are having second thoughts now?” Steve turned to him incredulously.

“I – no!” Bucky protested. “I’m just saying, do you know when this was last inspected? Did you hear that?”

“I can’t believe you!” Steve said, laughing a little too loudly. “I told you we shouldn’t go on this ride!”

“It’s a classic!” Bucky said defensively, as he leaned over the side of the car and swiftly turned back to Steve, looking a bit white.

“If you throw up, don’t do it on me,” Steve warned.

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

The car stopped several feet from the top, their slow ascent halting with a screech like the squeal of subway breaks.

Steve craned around in his seat, trying to see the hold up. He gave up after a second. The ride was probably too old to have speakers to let stranded riders know what was going on. Or maybe the operators just liked messing with people.

He settled back down once it was apparent they weren’t going to take the plunge just yet. Next to him, Bucky drummed his fingers on the safety bar. He stopped once he caught Steve staring at him, and instead nudged him with his elbow that was already half jammed into Steve’s side. The cars on the Cyclone were not very wide. “Thanks,” he said.

“For saying I told you so?” Steve asked bemusedly. “Because I definitely said that we shouldn’t do this. I get motion sick, and you’re scared of heights. There is literally no reason why we should be here.”

Bucky shook his head, looking resolutely ahead at the top of the first drop. “No – thanks for coming here. With me.” The car shuddered back into motion. “Steve-”

But whatever Bucky was going to say was cut off in a primal scream from the entire rollercoaster as they hurtled towards the ground. Steve didn’t make a sound, too busy making sure that the hotdogs he ate from Nathan’s two hours ago weren’t going to come back up. By the time they rose over the second hump, wooden struts groaning with their weight and momentum, Steve had his stomach mostly under control.

He lasted until the end of the ride, at least.

Back on the ground, Bucky rubbed his back, snickering in his ear as Steve bent double over the nearest trash can and threw up their dinner in several short, acidic bursts. The overwhelming smell of oil from half-eaten carnival food and empty wrappers nearly made Steve dry heave once he got his breath back. As soon as he was steady enough on his feet, though, Bucky led him to the nearest bench and he practically collapsed onto it.

“I’m going to get you back for this, I swear,” Steve muttered as he rubbed at his watering eyes. His mouth tasted foul.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I’m going to get you some water, okay?”

Steve shook his head. “There’s a water fountain over there. Don’t waste your money.”

“Some kid probably peed in it.”

“I really don’t think so.”

“Have you met kids? They’re little shits.”

“I’m going to the water fountain, Bucky.”

“No dice,” Bucky said firmly as he squeezed on Steve’s shoulder, keeping him on the bench. “I’m going to get you some water whether you drink it or not.”

Steve crossed his arms across his chest and glared up at Bucky. “Fine.”

When Bucky returned, Steve had found no fewer than three vomit stains on his shirt, and was seriously contemplating strangling the toddler that was making a scene behind him about not making the height limit of the Cyclone. He took the proffered water bottle without a word and drained a third, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Bucky said as he helped Steve up from the bench. “Whaddya want to do next?”

Steve blinked at him. “The Wonder Wheel?” he asked.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Come on,” Steve said as he pointed towards the end of the pier where the gigantic Ferris wheel stood out as one of the tallest attractions. “We’ll get a great view of the lights from up there,” he said wickedly.

Bucky groaned but started walking anyway. “You’re a jackass, you know that?”

Steve merely grinned at him.

The line wasn’t long. By now, most of the families had already gone home for dinner. Instead, Steve saw mainly couples as he glanced around waiting their turn, holding hands and whispering to one another. He shoved his hands in his pockets self-consciously. He and Bucky stuck out like a sore thumb on what was clearly a date night for everyone else. Bucky didn’t seem to mind, though. He regarded everyone with passing interest, gazing lingering on older teenage couples that were making out like he was hoping to pick up some tips.

Steve swallowed the lump in his throat, exhaling sharply and staring straight up at the tallest carriage at the top of the Wheel. He couldn’t begrudge Bucky for wishing he was here with Dot. It was just bad luck that he was saddled with Steve in her place.

They made it to the front, and Bucky cast one apprehensive look at the red neon lights blinking slowly on and off along the Ferris wheel spokes before he thrust his wristband in the operator’s face and clambered into the striped carriage without waiting for her okay. After Steve got in, the operator leaned in and flipped the latch closed, saying in a bored voice, “Welcome to the Wonder Wheel. Please keep your hands and feet in the carriage at all times. There is an emergency button to my left, but please use it only in a real emergency. Enjoy the ride.”

The carriage shuddered upwards, and Bucky’s hands flew to the metal railings below the windows. “You’ve got to be joking,” he groaned.

Steve snorted. “Come on, aren’t you supposed to face your fears?”

“I already did,” Bucky hissed. “What do you think the Cyclone was for?”

“To see how much your best pal Steve could hate you? You really should’ve seen this coming.”

“You don’t play fair, do you?”

Steve lightly kicked Bucky with his foot. “This is fair, Buck. Get used to it.”

“Can’t,” Bucky said faintly as the carriage stuttered to a halt. They were only about twenty feet above the ground, but based on Bucky’s face it wouldn’t make a difference if it were fifty.

Steve looked around, teasing smile slipping as Bucky’s face continued to whiten with every foot they gained in height. “Hey, I’m sorry,” Steve said in a low voice. “I didn’t realize you hated heights this much. I’d’ve picked something different.”

Bucky tossed him a weary look. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not. Come on, talk to me,” Steve said in an even voice. “Take your mind off it.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know, anything,” Steve said with a casual wave of his hand. “When’s your next track race?”

“I’m running the 400 meter in a couple of weeks. Semifinals.”

“That’s great!” Steve said with a little more enthusiasm than he really felt. “Let me know who’s hosting, and I’ll go and cheer you on.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, licking his lips as his eyes darted around the carriage again. It had stalled again, probably to let the next round of passengers on. They were around sixty feet up in the air now.

“So after this one, only one more race left?” Steve prompted.

Bucky nodded. “We have about two months until the end of the season.”

“You going to run again next year?”

“Thinking about it,” Bucky said through clenched teeth.

“If you like it, you should,” Steve said. “We, uh, we can see each other on weekends and stuff.”

Bucky’s mouth opened to respond, but he cut it off as the carriage lurched to a halt and swayed slightly in the wind. He gulped and turned to face Steve, blue eyes boring into his own as he resisted the urge to look out the window and gauge their height.

“You’ll get more homework anyway, once you’re in high school with witches,” Steve continued, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that was telling him to quit babbling. “But I bet you’ll learn some really fascinating stuff. You’ll learn our magic, which’ll be cool, right? Maybe you can teach me how to do some of it.”

“Shut up.”

“I – do you want me to press the emergency button?” Steve’s eyes roamed over Bucky’s face, taking in the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead and the clammy look of the rest of his face. “We’re practically at the top. Halfway done. It’s, uh, only downhill from here.”

Bucky shook his head firmly back and forth. “You’re talking about next year like – like –”

But his words cut off as Bucky gave a full-body shudder, and before Steve knew what was happening, he had half a lapful of German shepherd. Tail tucked between his legs, Bucky skittered around the small carriage, hackles raised and tongue lolling out of his open mouth. For a second, only his frantic pants filled the silence.

“Oh god.” Steve reached out a hand almost involuntarily to run down Bucky’s furry neck. He stopped himself. Bucky wasn’t a real dog. He didn’t need to be reassured like a wild animal, no matter what Steve’s instincts were telling him.

The carriage swayed even more violently with the abrupt change in mass, and Bucky let out a plaintive whine.

Steve shushed him, glancing at the metal ceiling where they were connected to the rest of the Wonder Wheel. He cast a stabilizing charm without a second thought.

The swaying stopped.

But of course, because he was Steve Rogers, magic never worked in his favor. Far-away shouts from below made Steve look down, and once glance out the window told him that he had stabilized the whole damn Wonder Wheel. His mouth dropped open in shock, and he gaped at Bucky, at a loss to explain what had happened. “I think we might be stuck,” Steve said faintly once he had gotten his voice back.

Bucky pawed at the metal floor of the carriage, shivering as he lowered to wedge himself on the floor space between the two seats.

“No, Buck, I’m so sorry,” Steve whispered as he slid down next to him, taking the side closest to the latched door. “I didn’t mean to – I just wanted for the shaking to stop.” He bit his lip and peered over the edge of the door. “I think we’re going to be moving soon,” he said, but he sounded doubtful to his own ears.

He waited a minute in the silence, listening to the muffled noises from the boardwalk below them and the raucous carnival goers. “I can’t believe I fucked up this badly,” Steve muttered to himself as he resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands like a child. He swallowed, hands balled into fists at his sides. “I shouldn’t have tried anything. We were on our way down.”

Bucky raised his head, his huge brown eyes catching the reflecting lights of park below. He pushed forward until his head rested on Steve’s knees.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Steve said, not meeting his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I know you hate this.” He swallowed, forcing the lump in his throat down. “I do too.”

Bucky nosed his way further into Steve’s space, paws inching forward on Steve’s thighs so he could rest his furry head in the juncture of Steve’s neck.

Steve shuddered as Bucky’s cold nose rubbed against his ear. “I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking, trying that spell,” he muttered as he closed his eyes and leaned back so his head rested against the seat of the bench above them. “But you were freaking out, and I couldn’t just keep talking at you like it would help anything.” He let out a mirthless chuckle. “Stupid. And here I am, babbling at you all over again.” He sighed. “You know, I should’ve just left it alone. Stayed back and did more research on high schools, or something. There are a couple hybrid ones still on my list. I should’ve let you spend your date with Dot in that hospital room. Girls like that, I think. You should’ve been there for her – it’s romantic, right? Now she’s alone in a hospital room. Nobody likes that.” He swallowed and wouldn’t look at Bucky. “And she probably wouldn’t have dragged you on here. I mean, she can fly. She doesn’t need all of this. You would’ve had a good time.”

Bucky barked, the sound impossibly loud in Steve’s ear.

“Christ!” Steve started at the sound. He looked around, and for the first time saw that they were about level with the tallest rides. “Hey, I think we’re moving?”

He felt Bucky’s fur sliding against his face as he pulled back, ears pricked as he sat up to sniff out the window.

“Yeah, I think so,” Steve said excitedly as he got up to twist around and get a better look. He squinted, far below them it looked like a group of Luna Park workers were gathered around the entrance to the Wheel, bent over the electronic switchboard that controlled it.

“I think so too, pal,” Bucky said, voice raspy and coming from somewhere over Steve’s right shoulder.

Steve smiled as he surveyed Bucky’s human form. “Nice to have you back.”

“Nice to be back on two legs,” Bucky said, grimacing as he crouched lower in the carriage so his head didn’t bump up against the ceiling. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve said dismissively. “What happened?”

“Lost control,” Bucky muttered as he gingerly lowered himself into one of the seats. “First time in years.”

Steve settled back down in his seat, avoiding Bucky’s gaze. “You okay?”

Bucky shook his head. “I’ve been better.”

“You lost control? I didn’t think that could happen,” Steve said carefully.

Bucky shrugged. “Part of our fight response. We’re most powerful in animal form. Sometimes we change without wanting to.”

Steve nodded slowly as he stared at a spot of brown gum stuck to the floor of the carriage. “I’m sorry for pushing you onto the ride. It was stupid.”

Bucky waved off his apology. “I should’ve said something.” He smiled, a little strained, at Steve. “My fault, really.”

They didn’t speak for the next couple minutes, until their carriage touched down at the base of the wheel.

Bucky braced himself on the door and railing as he clambered out of the carriage.

“Sorry,” the ride attendant apologized as she took in Bucky’s harried expression. “It just stopped working fifteen minutes ago. Had to hand-crank everyone down.”

“It’s fine,” Steve waved off as he steered Bucky in the direction of the exit.

On the subway, they settled into free seats by the head of the train. They were the only occupants except a homeless man, sleeping at the other end of the car and not causing any trouble. The train was one of the old ones, with the carefully measured red and orange seats that only really fit people Steve’s size, and windows filled with etched graffiti the because the authorities could wipe off sharpie or paint too easily for it to last.

“Were you really going to research hybrid schools tonight?” Bucky asked almost out of nowhere, brow furrowed and gaze trained straight out the scratched-up window.

“I – yeah,” Steve said with a shrug. “The entrance exams are next week, so I gotta know which ones to rank.” He gave a small laugh that he didn’t feel at all. “I don’t want to get stuck in Harlem or Staten Island. The nearest one’s in Battery Park. That wouldn’t be too bad, I guess. I heard they have good college prep.”

Bucky let out a frustrated huff. “You don’t need to do any of that. You’re going to try, right? To stay at PMA 20?”

“Course I am.”

Bucky eyed him warily. “Really?”

Steve’s shoulder slumped as he threw Bucky a helpless look. “It’s not up to me!”

Bucky turned in his seat, eyes blazing. “Yes it is, you goddamn punk!” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s completely up to you. You’re so set for failure, so that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

Steve clenched his jaw. “You don’t get it.”

“Because I’m not a witch, right?” Bucky sneered.

Steve bit back the urge to snap back, and said in as even a tone as he could muster, “Yes, it’s because you’re not a witch.”

Bucky blinked at him, hurt spreading all over his face like he hadn’t expected Steve to actually agree with him to his face.

Feeling lower than the piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe, Steve plowed on, “This isn’t something you can change. It’s what I am.” He gestured up and down his torso. “I’m not magical enough. I’ve known for years, and I know you think you can convince me that I’m miraculously going to come into my powers, but life doesn’t happen like that.”

Bucky said in a low voice, “You’re wrong.”

Steve took another drink of the water bottle he was still clutching. “How can you keep saying that? My spells have started working, I’ll give you that, but they never turn out right.”

Bucky’s mouth turned down in a grimace. “That doesn’t matter. They measure raw power, not what the hell you end up doing with it.”

“Bucky-”

“Don’t you trust me?” he interrupted.

Steve blinked. “Of course I trust you.”

“No, you don’t,” Bucky shot back. “If you did, you’d realize that I’ve been speaking the truth the whole time and your spells would work right.”

Steve stared at Bucky for a second, his anger building, mostly at himself, but also at Bucky. “All I’ve ever done is mess everything up. Hell, I nearly stranded us a hundred feet in the air half an hour ago!”

“I just don’t get it,” Bucky said, throwing his hands in the air. “You’ll stand up to all of the bullies. You have to know you can’t win, but you do it any way. Why’s your magic so different? Both times you go in knowing you’ll end up worse off. So why do you drag your feet casting spells, but jump at the chance to have a go at guys ten times your size with fists flying?” Bucky’s eyes narrowed at Steve as he said slowly, like he was thinking aloud, “Maybe you need a cause. You’re all about the principle of the thing, right?”

More than a little taken aback at Bucky’s fierce defense, Steve nodded mutely.

“I’ll give you a principle to fight for,” Bucky said grimly. “If you fail this exam, don’t continue at PMA 20, this-” he gestured between himself and Steve, “-is going to change.”

Steve jerked back, stung. “You’re going to-”

Bucky rolled his eyes and interrupted, “It’s what you’ve been thinking, right? That we won’t have time to be friends any more. So believe in yourself or not – I’m not going to be your personal Hallmark card for the next month. But if you want a reason to try your fucking hardest to pass, there it is.”

“I – thanks, I think,” Steve said after a beat.

Bucky tossed him a hard look as he dug in his jacket pocket and pulled out a tangle of headphones. “And don’t you ever play the witch card with me. There are some things that are different between us, between witches and familiars, but not this, so don’t tell me I don’t know how this shit works. I live with a bunch of stuck-up witches; don’t you go become one too.”

He held an earbud out to Steve, who took it with a strained smile.

* * *

Steve just squeaked by his exam, if the surprised expression on his teacher’s face was any indication. He told Bucky first, that Steve would be able to stay at PMA 20 in the fall, now that Bucky was finally going to be transferring to the same school. That weekend, Sarah took a rare Saturday off and took Bucky and Steve to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. They spent half the day admiring impressionist paintings and Greek marble sculptures, only leaving when their feet started to hurt and their stomachs demanded a late lunch. Sarah was prepared to shell out for an over-priced restaurant by the museum, but Bucky and Steve assured her they would be happy with hotdogs and sodas. The weather was nice, having days before switched from spring jacket to light sweatshirt weather.

“What’d you like best?” Sarah asked as they strolled into Central Park.

“The exit sign,” Bucky said promptly, through a mouthful of hotdog.

“Jerk,” Steve muttered as he elbowed Bucky in the ribs. “I liked the Seurats. I don’t think I’ve seen them before.”

Bucky thought for a moment, a bit of mustard dripping onto his shirt. “That’s the pointillism?”

“Mm hm,” Sarah hummed as she thrust a couple of paper napkins in his direction. “I think we might’ve seen them before, Steve,” she said. “But you were around seven when we last went to the Met, so I can understand how you wouldn’t remember.” She smiled fondly. “I bought you your first sketchbook after that trip. You were so excited.”

“I was?” Steve asked, a little bewildered. “I just remember carrying it everywhere when I was a kid.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re still a kid,” Sarah said with a laugh.

“I’m almost fifteen!” Steve said.

“Still shrimpy like a kid though,” Bucky snickered before Steve kicked him in the knee. Bucky stumbled, but managed to stay on his own two feet and keep a hold of his hotdog.

“Boys,” Sarah chastised, and they both tossed her apologetic glances. “We’re in public. Haven’t I taught you anything, Steve?”

“Keep it to where they can’t see you?” Steve tried.

Sarah let out a very put-upon sigh. “I guess that is the lesson you would take away.”

They kept walking until the hotdogs were gone, and took the downtown train back to Brooklyn. The journey home took a little longer than normal, as the weekend meant that half of the train lines were under construction, and the other half were running local until Fulton Street.

Back in Brooklyn, Sarah asked Bucky on the elevator ride to street level, “Are you going to be staying for dinner? I was thinking of getting pizza – really make a lazy day of it.”

“The Met? Central Park? Pizza?” Bucky asked. “It’s like we’re tourists or something.” He gave an exaggerated shudder of horror.

“So that’s a yes?” Steve asked.

Bucky’s joking expression dimmed. “I actually have a date with Dot tonight.” He explained hurriedly, “I didn’t know we had plans, pal.”

“We didn’t,” Steve said quickly. “It was just a thought, right Ma?” He looked to Sarah for confirmation, who nodded firmly.

“I hope you have a good time, Bucky,” she said kindly. “When are you meeting her?”

“Uh, not for two hours - seven. We’re getting dinner at that new brick oven pizza place.” He squinted as they emerged from the train station.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to stop by there,” Sarah said with a smile as they turned down their street. “I’ve heard good things. You have to report back, you hear me?”

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky said with a little salute.

“How long have you been seeing this girl?” Sarah asked as she fished around in her purse for their apartment keys. By habit, she opened the mailbox first, rolling her eyes at the mass mailings that had accumulated and the stray bank statement, and ushered Bucky and Steve in the building.

“About a month,” Bucky said with a little smile that made Steve’s insides twist with discomfort.

“Do you love her?” Sarah asked with a broad smile as they started the trek up to the third-floor landing.

Steve couldn’t see Bucky’s face clearly from his position behind him on the stairs, but there was no mistaking the bright flush creeping up his neck and staining his ears.

“Probably not?” Bucky rubbed at the back of his neck. “I don’t know – don’t you have to be older for that?”

Sarah shrugged, eyes twinkling. “Romeo and Juliet were thirteen.”

“And they’re clearly the experts on love,” Steve interjected with a severe frown.

“Yeah, I’m not ready to die for Dot,” Bucky said with a nervous laugh. “I’ve got to buy her a lot more pizza.”

“A fair assessment at this point in your relationship,” Sarah said gravely as she let them into their apartment.

* * *

Steve woke up his first day of high school to his ma shaking him awake and kissing him on the forehead as she took off for her early shift at the hospital. Steve, who had been out late with Bucky as they celebrated and mourned their last day of freedom with too much soda and junk food, waited until he heard the front door close behind Sarah to sluggishly get out of bed and start pulling on the essentials. Bucky had left at around midnight, bemoaning another text he’d received from Dot wanting to get back together.

By the time he stopped by the kitchen for a quick breakfast, completely dressed and ready for the day as he was ever going to get, he was thoroughly awake and thrumming with a nervous energy. He hesitated as he read Sarah’s post-it on the freezer, wishing him a good first day with a little doodle of what might be a desk, or maybe a blackboard. Thank god Steve hadn’t inherited his mother’s artistic talent, or lack thereof.

He walked to school with a smile on his face, which only widened once he caught sight of Bucky loitering by the door.

“Hey, I thought you weren’t going to make it,” Bucky said as he yawned hugely.

“I’m not even late.” Steve grinned as he followed Bucky into the building. They had compared their schedules last night; they had roughly half of their classes together, and Steve was already counting his lucky stars.

“You gonna show me around?” Bucky asked expectantly as Steve paused in the entrance halls.

“The middle school is in a separate building,” Steve said as he directed them to the left and peered at the nearest classroom, with Room C02 displayed near the door. “I have no idea where we’re supposed to go.”

Bucky snorted. “There goes my brilliant plan to use you for your connections.”

“What connections?” Steve asked with a laugh. “I don’t have any. Everyone says I don’t play nice with others.”

“Naw, I’m your friend. It’s everyone that won’t play nice with you.”

“It’s not my fault they’re all jerks,” Steve muttered.

“That’s the spirit,” Bucky said bracingly as he clapped Steve on the shoulder with enough force to rattle his knees. “I hear you’ll make more friends with vinegar than honey, anyway. Everyone else is lying to you.”

Steve’s gaze was shrewd. “It’s that kind of enabling behavior that makes me think that you don’t have my best intentions at heart.”

“Of course I don’t,” Bucky said, looking positively affronted at the idea. “It’s been my agenda the whole time. Get you alone so you have no choice but to Bond with me at the end of all this. We’ll rule the world, Steve. Just you wait.”

“You’ll want to wait until your balls drop first,” Steve snickered.

“Steven!” Bucky put a hand over his heart. “Such language. Why I never.” He swatted Steve on the arm. “And screw you. That happened years ago. I found a chest hair yesterday.”

Steve peered at the nearest door and pushed it open, saying, “And you’re sure that wasn’t left over fur? You were running around on all fours at some point.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky said, laughing.

A severe voice cut through their conversation: “I don’t know about your previously underpaid and underqualified educators, but I do not allow that type of language in my classroom.” Their teacher straightened, looking pointedly at the pair of them. “Now, get the hell inside and pray that you make more lasting impressions over the next year than the ones you just left.”

“I – yes sir,” Bucky said, casting a worried glance at Steve.

Steve shook his head minutely and turned back to their teacher, named Mr. Philips according to the whiteboard behind his desk, “Of course.”

“See that you do,” Mr. Philips said gruffly. “I won’t tolerate any type of bullshit; you hear me?”

Steve puffed up at the anvil-sized hypocrisy, but Bucky’s hand appeared on his shoulder, squeezing just on the right side of painful, to stop him from opening his big mouth too soon. “Save it,” Bucky hissed. “Or you’ll just prove his point.” Steve settled for a nasty glare over his shoulder as he and Bucky made their way to the back of the classroom, beside two new kids that Steve didn’t recognize from middle school.

“Hold on, names?” Mr. Philips called to them as he took a bored glance at the attendance sheet on his desk.

Bucky didn’t look behind him as he said loudly, “Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers.”

Mr. Philips let out a noisy sigh. “I don’t have a Bucky on here,” he said after a moment. “And which one of you is Rogers?”

Steve hiked his backpack further up his shoulder. “I’m Steve Rogers,” he said, hand raised slightly in the air.

Mr. Philips marked him off on his sheet and turned his sharp gaze to Bucky. “And you’re the James Barnes I have on here, I take it?”

“I go by Bucky,” Bucky said, voice hard.

“I’m sure you do,” Mr. Philips muttered. “Take a seat, then. We’re starting in two minutes, and asses better be in seats by then.”

At the back of the classroom, two new kids that Steve didn’t recognize from middle school smiled at them. Familiars, his instincts told him, and Bucky’s lax stance and easy smile just proved his hunch. “Nice,” one of them said. He nodded up to where Philips was ganging up on a couple of girls by the door. “He’s been a hardass since we got here. Gabe Jones.”

“You should’ve told him off,” the other boy said. “It would have been epic.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “I’d like to think Steve doesn’t have a death wish.” He glanced worriedly at Steve, who rolled his eyes.

“He gets one free pass,” Steve said firmly. “I don’t respect hypocrites.”

Bucky sighed. “Of course not.”

“I should’ve known not to trust that kid,” Gabe said, jerking his head over to where Gilmore Hodges and his friends were huddled in a circle.

“What’d he say?” asked Bucky, glaring darkly over at them.

The other kid nodded at Steve. “He was surprised that you were here.”

“Come on, Jim, you know it was more than that,” Gabe argued. “He was saying that you must’ve gotten in by mistake.”

“Typical,” Bucky muttered. “Glad to see he hasn’t changed over the summer.”

“You know him?” Jim asked, glancing between Bucky and Steve.

Bucky grimaced. “A little. Steve’s been at this school for four years, though. Knows him pretty well.”

“He’s a jackass,” Gabe said flatly.

Steve grinned.

“You’ve only known him for a half hour,” Jim said fairly.

“That’s all you need,” Bucky muttered.

The bell rang, interrupting anything that Gabe had to say back. Conversation died as Mr. Philips glared around the room. He didn’t move from where he was leaning against the teacher’s desk; just started speaking in a very overworked tone of voice. “Welcome to PMA 20. Now, I know you’re all distracted by hormones and angst, so I’ll keep this short for your ADHD-riddled attention spans. I am Mr. Philips, and this is homeroom. This is not a free period; this is not nap time. I expect you all to listen when I am speaking, be respectful to me and each other when I am not, and for god’s sake show up on time.” He nodded once. “I do not believe in forced socialization, and I don’t expect all of you to be friends and sing kumbaya by Yom Kippur. Introduce yourselves on your own time. Carry on.”

Bucky turned to Steve and whispered, “You know, he’s an asshole but I kind of like him.”

Throughout the day, Steve could hardly believe that Bucky was sitting in class next to him. He’d catch his eye and grin, and reveled in Bucky’s smile in return. Bucky didn’t have Practical Magic I like Steve, but they did share Magical Theory I as well as English and History. Bucky was a year ahead of him in math, so he trudged off to Algebra II/Trig while Steve made his way to Geometry, fully prepared to spend the period like his Bucky-less middle school classes. But Gabe Jones surprised him by taking the empty seat next to him in the front of the classroom with less than a minute to spare until class started.

When bell rang for lunch, he wordlessly packed up his bag and followed Steve down to the cafeteria, which was just beginning to fill with hungry students. Gabe sheepishly pulled out a bagged lunch and told Steve that he would save him a table as Steve motioned to get in line for food.

Full tray in hand, Steve scanned the cafeteria for Gabe, and thankfully found him at a table with Bucky and a redheaded boy Steve was positive he hadn’t seen before. His bowler hat was distinctive.

Steve arrived at the same time as Jim, the other new kid from homeroom. Jim took the free seat next to Bucky, so Steve slid in next to the kid with the bowler hat, who only introduced himself as Dum Dum. Bucky and Gabe already had a rousing conversation going on about Gabe’s newest video game. Steve had played it with Bucky a handful of times before on the rare nights that they stayed over at Bucky’s house instead of Steve’s apartment. While the accommodations at Steve’s were smaller and his consoles were older, Bucky’s apartment was constantly overrun with any number of his three sisters, his live-in grandmother, or his parents.

“You talking about the Howling Commandos II: First Blood?” Jim asked as he began squirting ketchup all over his fries. “I love that game.”

“I can’t wait until I get a plasma gun. Those things are so kickass, but I’m only level five,” Dum Dum said sullenly.

“You know you can beat the game with just the SSR shield?” Bucky cut in.

“No way,” Dum Dum shook his head. “I used it once by mistake. Never again. I threw it and it ricocheted off into the void! I spent ten damn minutes looking for that thing.”

“You have to be at least level eleven tactical,” Steve said.

Dum Dum frowned. “Who has time for that?”

“It’s worth it,” Steve argued. “If you can keep the shield with you, it’s the best weapon the game has. You don’t have to worry about running out of bullets, or taking nearly as much damage. If you upgrade to vibranium after Azzano, it’s also damn near indestructible. Plus, you get closer to the inventor, and he’ll help you get more stuff before your fight with the boss.”

“I’ve watched him do a play through with the shield. It’s pretty impressive.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “If you want to sit around SSR building and do lame quests to up your tactical, go for it, bro. I’d rather kick some Nazi ass.” He turned to Steve. “Have you played the first Howling Commandos? It’s pretty awesome.”

Steve shook his head. “Bucky just got the second one for his birthday this year. I think the first one came out a while ago, right?”

“They really souped up the effects and the visuals for the second, but the first’s not bad,” Jim said eagerly. “The story’s just as good.”

“I think I played it at my cousin’s house once?” Dum Dum said slowly. “It has their origin story, right?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Jim said excitedly. “Dude, we should play it sometime.”

Steve blinked at him for a moment. “Sure, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jim’s enthusiasm ricocheted up. “You free this weekend? I think I still have it.”

“I – yeah I’m free,” Steve said with a laugh after a questioning look at Bucky. “Where do you live?”

“Carroll Gardens,” Jim said as he looked around. “Not far. You guys want to come too?”

“Sure,” Bucky said with a grin.

“If it’s before six,” Dum Dum said with a shrug. “I have to babysit my brothers on Saturday.”

“I’m in,” Gabe said. “I’d have to leave early too – Crown Heights is a bit far too stay late.”

“That’s okay, Jim,” Bucky said with a grin. “Steve and I will go clubbing with you at 2am.”

Jim laughed. “I’ll have to take a rain check on that. I wasn’t planning on getting fake IDs for a little bit longer.”

Dum Dum titled his head thoughtfully as he studied the group. “I can get us some. I think my bother knows people.”

“Not the one you have to babysit, right?” Gabe deadpanned.

“No, Jonny’s twenty. I’ll be babysitting the eight-year-old and ten-year-old,” Dum Dum explained. “Technically Marty too, but Marty two years older than me. He just watches TV and doesn’t make trouble, so he’s cool.”

Gabe whistled.

Bucky groaned sympathetically. “Large family’s rough.”

Dum Dum shrugged. “It’s like a circus sometimes. Never boring, though.”

Their group dubbed themselves the Commandos that first weekend they spent at Jim’s house as they ate thawed jiaozhi Jim’s mother had made in bulk for a cocktail party and played Howling Commandos I. It was the first time Steve and Bucky had ever had homemade dumplings, and Bucky vowed never to eat anything else ever again.

Jim then signed them all up for an exploration of Chinatown, and they spent a thoroughly enjoyable month going from dim sum place to dim sum place every weekend trying to find their favorite. When Gabe complained of the distance, they’d go to his neck of the woods and get bagels and lox.

* * *

Fall was bleeding into winter as the brown and crimson leaves fell from skeletal branches that lined the sidewalks. After school, Bucky and Steve headed over to the dog run, jackets zipped up and gloves on.

“I hate biology,” Bucky was saying as they settled down to watch a dog walker with no fewer than seven dogs undo the latch and struggle to get the pack inside. “The double period last thing on Mondays is going to kill me, I swear. At least we’re split up by genus, so I don’t have to learn anything else about fish. Useless familiars, unless you love houseboats.”

“Are there fish familiars?” Steve asked. “That… can’t be very common.”

“No they’re not,” Bucky agreed with a laugh. “Like, 80% of familiars have a mammal or bird form. The rest are reptiles, and then you get the odd fish or insect. I feel bad: there’s a girl, a dolphin if you can believe it. Still a mammal, so bad luck of the draw. She’s really friendly, though.”

“Did she go to your school before?”

“Yeah, I’d seen her around. Katherine O’Neil, you know her?”

Steve shook his head. “Must not have any classes together.” He leaned back, angling his face so that he could catch a little more sun. “There are a lot more people now.”

“I like it,” Bucky said firmly. “All of those witches you used to go to school with were jackasses.”

“They’re still there, Buck.” Steve paused and amended, “Most of them, at least.”

“Yeah, but they’re easier to ignore now.”

“That’s true.”

Bucky studied him thoughtfully. “I bet you know a lot more familiars now.”

“What, like Jim and Gabe?” Steve asked. “They’re great.”

“Yeah.” Bucky sat up and whistled. A retriever mix came scampering over, and Bucky reached down to pet his head. “Makes you think.”

Steve shook off Bucky’s words and offered him a reassuring smile. “You’re being stupid again,” he sighed a whole troop of dogs over took their legs, eager for Bucky’s attention. Steve reached down halfheartedly, smiling despite himself as the dogs didn’t even react to his attention. They only had eyes for Bucky. He could relate.

“Is that so?” Bucky asked, wrenching a ball out of a corgi’s mouth and throwing it halfway across the park.

“Yeah,” Steve said firmly, watching as the dogs took off.

Bucky brushed his hair out of his face, squinting in the bright sunlight to make out which dog got the tennis ball at the bottom of the hill. He let out a laugh as a sheepdog soared over the smaller terriers to catch it before it could hit the ground. “Yeah! Working dogs kick ass,” Bucky whooped as they got swarmed again a second later.

Steve bent down obligingly, a faint smile on his lips as he watched Bucky try to pet all the dogs at once. He saved the sheepdog for last, crouching down to get as close as possible to the dog’s coat and give him a thorough array of scratches in congratulations. The sheepdog dropped the ball at Bucky’s feet, but it was quickly snatched up by a dachshund, who danced just out of reach. Bucky, not one to be defeated by such a tiny dog, dashed after her and grabbed the ball from her mouth before she could get very far.

He held the ball up triumphantly, breathing a little heavier than normal, and let it fly, tossing a delighted grin over his shoulder at Steve.

Steve’s heart gave a lurch, stuttering in his chest.

Bucky turned away from the hoard of dogs trampling down the hill and stared at Steve, head tilting curiously. “You okay?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine,” Steve said, blinking as he tried to clear his thoughts. “Uh, good throw.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Steve.”

On the next round, Steve couldn’t help the way his eyes followed the strong line of Bucky’s arm or the curve of his blinding smile as he watched the dogs yip and bark for his attention. Steve wanted nothing more than to wrap this moment up forever and keep it tight to his chest.

Thinking back on the memory later that night, and the nearly overwhelming rush of affection that surged up to choke the words in his throat every time Bucky looked back at him, Steve should’ve seen that he’d been falling for his best friend for years.

* * *

Two months after the Commandos formed, Jim took them to a party one of his friends from his old school was throwing. Jim was new to New York, and had attended the Magical United Nations International School for a year after they had moved from Fresno. The party was primarily made up of MUNIS kids, and so the Commandos had kept to themselves until Jim actively tried to integrate them.

They started breaking up when who MUNIS kids, Montgomery Falsworth and Jacques Dernier, challenged Dum Dum and Gabe at beer pong, and the four of them drunkenly bonded over rematch after rematch.

Bucky was sprawled on the couch, eating up attention from two MUNIS witches with his paws in the air and tail thumping against the cushions as they cooed over his soft ears and sleek fur.

A heavy weight settled in Steve’s stomach as he saw one of the witches gently caress Buck’s back, and he turned away, scanning the crowd for a face he recognized. Steve wasn’t ashamed of his feelings, but there was no way he would bring himself to unburden all of this on Bucky. Steve honestly had no idea if Bucky’s rejection would kill them dead, or if they’d spring up like weeds, growing in scraps of sunlight and affection that Bucky had to show his best pal.

Apparently drinking made him maudlin.

More animals appeared out of the woodwork when familiars lowered their self-restraint and loosened up. Drunk witches showing off sent off a couple of misfired spells, but in the end only the tip of Bucky’s tail got singed when one of the MUNIS witches tried to light a fire in the fake fireplace when Dum Dum mentioned that he was cold.

Steve managed to rouse himself from his wallflower mope to talk Gabe down from where he had flown onto a high shelf, hooting incessantly, when everyone just wanted to go home.

Steve vowed no more parties. It was one thing if he had an especially good time, if drinking made him happier, funnier, or more likeable. Instead, he watched from the sidelines as Bucky hung off the arm of another girl. So, not very different than any other Friday night.

* * *

Bucky still had to remind Steve to pay attention when classes brought up the limited information on the Bond that the government allowed teachers reveal to students. They argued sometimes, Bucky convincing Steve that he was going to need this information once he could apply to Bond at eighteen, and Steve disagreeing that there was no guarantee he’d pass the last exam that would mark him eligible for a Bond in the first place.

“Don’t you even want to know about it?” Bucky asked one night as they sat hunched over his kitchen table, doing their best to ignore Becca’s shrieking argument with George upstairs, and the sounds of Winifred’s primetime drama she was watching with her mother in the living room. At least Bucky’s other two sisters were out at violin practice and extra Spanish tutoring.

“I guess so?” Steve threw up his hands in exasperation. “I just don’t think it’s very important right now.”

“Right,” Bucky scoffed as he flicked a page of his play and scrawled something in the margins. “Not important, the most binding relationship in your life, apart from marriage.”

“Buck,” Steve said in a would-be patient voice, “I don’t want to count on something that might never happen.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Bucky snapped. “This is just like those magical aptitude tests you took for high school. You told me for years that you didn’t need to worry about those, you’d just fail them, and go on your merry way. And now look!” He gestured sharply in Steve’s direction, almost hitting him in the nose with the spine of his book. “A whole lot of angst, all for nothing.”

Steve’s hand stilled in its drawing of an acute angle. “The government oversees this one. They have a registry and everything. It’s a big deal.”

“Exactly. That’s why you should be prepping for it now.”

“Their standards are higher.”

“You’ll still pass them. I –” Bucky’s confidence stuttered for the first time as he glanced around at the empty kitchen. “Have you changed your mind? Do you not want to Bond at all?”

“What?” Steve gaped at him. “Of course I want to Bond.”

Bucky didn’t answer for a moment. “Because I’d get it if you changed your mind. The last time I asked, we were just kids. It’s different. You saw what’s going on in Missouri.”

“What? Those anti-magic protests and petitions for humans-only cities?” Steve said incredulously. He’d disinterestedly followed the stories on the news for the past couple of weeks, mostly as background noise for when he was reading or doing homework. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky hedged. “They found and beat up those witches ‘cause of their familiars, you know?”

“Yes,” Steve said slowly, totally at a loss as to what Bucky was getting at.

“They went through a magical neighborhood and rounded up all the animals they could find. They knew that’s how to get at their witches.” He swallowed. “They were the weak link, Steve. We all transform at the first sign of danger, and they knew that. They used it to target everyone.”

“You’re not the weak link,” Steve said firmly. “You make us stronger. That’s why we Bond in the first place. Witches and familiars, they’re supposed to complement each other. These humans, they’re the weak ones, letting their fear tell them what to do. They can’t see beyond their prejudices and recognize that having a magical community makes society stronger, like any minority group does.”

Bucky ducked his head. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Gabe,” Steve said with a smile. “He has lots of opinions on what’s going on in Missouri. We were talking about it a couple of days ago – I think you were at cross country practice and he had time to kill.” His eyes narrowed as he studied Bucky’s wan face. “Where’d you hear those opinions of yours? The weak link crap? That’s not how the news has been putting it.”

“You know, around,” Bucky said with a lazy wave of his hand.

“No, really,” Steve pressed. “Because if Gilmore or anyone has been spewing that ‘familiars are witches’ assistants’ crap, then they should be set straight.”

“Wasn’t anyone at school,” Bucky mumbled, gaze deliberately trained down on the book in his hands. His eyes were on a fixed point, not reading a word, and Steve could tell that his ears were straining to hear if George and Becca were still talking upstairs, and if Winifred’s soap opera had ended yet.

“Oh,” Steve said, glancing around once more to make sure the kitchen was empty. “Do – do you want to get out of here?” he asked. “I’m thinking we head up to your room for a study break.”

“Sure,” Bucky said, relieved.

* * *

Somehow, using a combination of bribery and guilt tripping, Bucky convinced Steve to go to another party to kick off summer break after freshman year of high school. Steve found himself once again at a party made up of PMA 20 and MUNIS students, Jim, Monty, and Jacques in the center as the glue that held everything together. The house was nice, a large brownstone in Windsor Terrace close by Prospect Park. By the time they arrived, the party was in full swing. The beat of a powerful bass pumped up from the basement, and clusters of teenagers lounging around all available surfaces.

Bucky wasted no time in taking a couple of shots and heading downstairs.

Steve, who couldn’t dance for his life, stayed on the first floor. He didn’t need to embarrass himself, or watch Bucky dance with scores of people who match him move for move. 

Instead, he found himself squashed in between Jacques, Gabe, and several people he didn’t recognize. He stared down at his second half-empty beer, starting as something nudged his foot. He looked down at a white cat curiously. “Uh hello,” he said after a beat as the cat continued to stare.

“Damn, I’m sorry!”

Steve looked up to find himself face-to-face with a pretty brown-eyed girl.

“This’s Lorraine,” she said as she scooped the cat up into her arms. “And she’s not supposed to be down here,” she said. Her English accent made the scolding sound more charming than threatening.

Steve blinked at her. He didn’t know anyone who would just _pick up_ a familiar like that. She didn’t look old enough to Bond, definitely around his age.

“Hi Lorraine,” Steve said politely, trying to school his bafflement into a friendlier expression.

“I’m Peggy,” she stuck out her hand, shifting the cat around as she did so. The cat did not find this to her liking, and leapt out of Peggy’s arms as soon as her hold was loose enough. “Shite,” Peggy muttered as she watched Lorraine’s tail whip around a corner and out of sight.

“I’m Steve. I – are you Bonded?” Steve blurted.

“No?” Peggy’s eye went wide. “Why? Are you interested? Because that’s awfully forward for someone you just met.”

“I’m not – no, your familiar?” Steve stumbled, gesturing a bit helplessly with a large sweep of his beer-less hand in the direction the cat disappeared off to.

Peggy stood stock still before she burst into full-throated laughter. “That’s my cat, Steve.”

Steve closed his eyes as he exhaled a slow breath. “Just a cat?”

“Just a cat,” Peggy said, still giggling. “She doesn’t like people or crowds, so I was keeping her upstairs. She escaped, obviously.”

“Oh.”

Peggy cocked her head to the side as she studied him. “I’m a familiar,” she said casually. “Couldn’t you tell?”

Steve shook his head shamefacedly. “Not really,” he said. “I’ve gotten better – a couple of years ago I couldn’t tell even if you were standing five feet from me. Now I figure it out, uh, eventually.” He stared at his beer. “I’d blame the alcohol, but this is only my second one.”

“Second one?” Peggy repeated, eyes wide. “Well that has to be remedied. Come with me.”

She seized him by the arm and all but dragged him over to the kitchen where all the drinks were assembled on a sticky marble countertop that gleamed slickly in the bright lights. She poured him a cup full of several types of hard liquor and a splash of ginger ale. “Here,” she all but shoved it at Steve’s chest. “I – my beer?” he said weakly.

Peggy took it from him and drained it. “There,” she said grandly as she turned to use Steve’s old cup to mix her own drink. “No more beer.”

“Cheers.” Steve raised his cup and only choked at the first taste. “That’s strong,” he said, licking his lips.

Peggy’s eyes followed the movement. “I should hope so,” she said over the rim of her cup. “If you aren’t pissed by the end of the night, then I’d be a poor hostess, wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said. “This is only my second party.”

“I hope it has exceeded the first,” Peggy said with a wink as she settled them both down on a couch opposite Bucky.

To Steve’s surprise, Peggy spent the rest of the night talking with him. Bucky even made it upstairs long enough to pair up with Jim against them for a round of beer pong, which Peggy and Steve won handedly. Despite being four drinks in, Steve’s aim wasn’t shot by the alcohol, and Peggy’s look of admiration was something that he’d only ever seen on Bucky’s face before. It was intoxicating. She kept laughing, but not _at_ him, and he kept feeling like a fool with hands, so he kept drinking for something to do with them.

She didn’t even laugh when he threw up in the sink as the party was winding down, just patted his back and offered him the last cup of ginger ale to settle his stomach.

The Commandos drunkenly rode the subway home shortly after, grimacing as Dum Dum spent the entire time waiting for the godforsaken G train singing I’m Gonna Be (500) Miles in a terrible Scottish accent. At the end of the last verse, Gabe made one crack about “what happens when white people get turnt,” and Jim took that as some sort of challenge to join in to prove him wrong.

After clomping up the stairs to Steve’s apartment, shushing each other every other step, they all collapsed more or less on every available surface in the living room. Steve and Bucky slept on the couch cushions on the floor, Gabe and Jim took the cushion-less couch, and Dum Dum dragged Steve’s blankets from his bed onto the rug and slept underneath the coffee table.

They all woke up nauseous, head achy, and hung over as shit, and agreed that it had been the best party ever.

* * *

When Peggy texted Steve the next weekend, Steve nearly dropped his phone in the toilet in surprise. He walked back out to sit next to Bucky on the couch where they had been watching some action movie from a couple decades ago. He silently handed over his phone for Bucky for his opinion.

“’I hope it’s okay that I got your number from Jim. I was wondering if you were free sometime for coffee?’” Bucky read aloud, eyes wide.

Steve snatched his phone back. “I don’t know what to do,” he said miserably.

“Who is this?” Bucky asked, tapping the unknown phone number at the top of Steve’s screen with his index finger.

“I think it’s Peggy.”

Bucky his face went from confused to miffed in a split second. “And Peggy is…?”

“You know,” Steve said, waving a hand in the air. “We went to her party last weekend. Jim invited us.”

“The British girl?” Bucky asked, looking reluctantly impressed.

Steve scowled and turned back to his phone. “Hold on, I’ll ask.”

“Give me that,” Bucky took Steve’s phone back over his protests and wrote out a message. He didn’t tap send, waiting for Steve to push the button itself. “There,” he said as he tossed it back in Steve’s lap.

“What?” Steve asked as he read over Bucky’s reply. He made a face. “Come on, I’m not going to say that to her. I can just who it is, and if it is Peggy, then I think I’ll go to coffee with her.”

“Smooth,” Bucky muttered as Steve deleted Bucky’s message of ‘how you doin’ and replaced it with his own. “Figures you’d be all lame and straightforward.”

“I don’t like beating around the bush,” Steve sniffed.

“Oh I know that,” Bucky said in a long-suffering voice, eyebrows raised. “Why beat around the bush when you can just run headlong into it? That’s your philosophy, right?”

Steve spluttered, “I just want to make sure I know who I’m talking to, and where we stand. Is it so wrong to want all my bases covered?”

“Planning a home run already?” Bucky snickered. “Dude, you haven’t even gotten to first base. The rest can wait.”

Steve punched Bucky in the arm. “You jerk, you know that’s not what I meant!”

“Sure it isn’t,” Bucky cackled as Steve’s phone pinged with a new message. “Is she a witch?”

“No, a familiar,” Steve said distractedly as he replied. “It is Peggy, if you were wondering. She just said.”

“Oh, I thought so,” Bucky said in a funny voice.

Steve glanced up at him, but Bucky was already looking away, fiddling with something on his own phone. “Huh?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m surprised you remember her at all,” Steve said wryly. “Those MUNIS witches were all up on you.”

Bucky shrugged. “Can’t help it if ladies love puppies.”

“You’re not a puppy, Buck. You’re more fit for the K9 unit with the NYPD, if you ask me.”

“All dogs are puppies. Ask any girl.”

“That’s sexist.”

“It’s true.”

Steve looked up from his phone. “I just made plans to meet Peggy on Friday after school.”

Bucky froze for a second, then seemed to give himself a little shake. “That’s great.” He swallowed and a hesitant smile broke across his face. “That’s something you want to do, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve said softly, staring at his phone screen.

That night, after Bucky had gone home, Steve was laying on his bed and staring at his texts with Peggy, which had petered out in the early evening when she had left for a movie with her friends. He’d shared some of his thoughts with Bucky as he read her replies, and Bucky had assured him that everything was going well, and they were headed in the direction Steve wanted them to. Steve couldn’t bring himself to correct him.

Before the Commandos, Steve felt like half of himself was missing when Bucky wasn’t around. Bullies made Steve dread recess and group projects. The rest of his classmates were wary and unwilling to talk to him when not strictly required. The teachers didn’t seem to care, and turned a blind eye as long as they weren’t attempting to do magic outside of the classroom. The only time Steve could relax and let his guard down was with Bucky, whether they were safely tucked away watching movies at Steve’s apartment or enjoying fresh air at the dog run.

Now, Steve had other friends.

Jim, the most sociable, invited the Commandos at his house practically every weekend. His stay-at-home mother was happy for the company and the opportunity to dote on someone other than her only son, as his father worked long hours at the Japanese embassy.

Gabe was the most widely-read after Steve, but ironically was the Commando Steve disagreed with the most. They never came to blows or even raised voices, but only because of Gabe’s thoughtful arguments and non-judgmental attitude. He came from a long family of familiars, and Steve could always ask for his honest opinion and more information on sensitive familiar topics, even the ones that sometimes rubbed Bucky the wrong way.

Dum Dum was the heart of the group; there was no other way to explain it. His near-constant good mood could settle any argument, and often did. His large family meant many years as an arbiter and deal-breaker, so he naturally fell into the same role in the Commandos.

Monty and Jacques were the newest, but they quickly made themselves indispensable with their quick banter that had the rest of them in stitches. Like Bucky and Steve, they seemed to come in a pair. On their way home from one of their video game marathons, Bucky told Steve that if Monty and Jacques didn’t Bond when they turned eighteen, he’d eat his left shoe.

And now Peggy.

The sudden explosion in the number of people Steve could count as friends made his head spin.

Even after a year of friendship with the Commandos, Steve’s need for Bucky never went away. At first, Steve could blame it on not knowing any of them well enough, but as the weeks wore on, the group grew tighter; they developed inside jokes; they did everything together.

Even after all of that, Steve still couldn’t help that he clung onto Bucky just a little tighter, valued his opinion just a little more, and sought him out that much faster than anyone else. His crush on Bucky hadn’t abated over the course of the year, no matter how much he ignored it.

Steve groaned as he shut his phone off, laying it face down on his bedside table so Peggy’s texts would stop mocking him. He stared off into his dark bedroom, only lit by faint orange light from the streetlamp outside his curtained-off window. Bucky was probably asleep by now.

He picked his phone back up to ask Peggy how the movie went. Peggy was lovely by all standards, whip smart, gorgeous, and knew how to show him a good time. If it was a choice between someone who didn’t want him and someone who did, Steve only had one logical path ahead.

He could put Bucky aside for the first time in his life. He had to, for his own sanity.

* * *

“He can’t make it,” Steve said hollowly as he pocketed his phone. He turned to Peggy, her face a mask of polite disappointment. It was probably for Steve, as she didn’t care for Bucky all that much. Not for lack of trying on Steve’s part, as he could hardly get the three of them alone in a room together for more than twenty minutes. More Commandoes would inevitably interrupt, or Bucky would bail with excuses up to his eyeballs. If Steve could convince his best girl and his best friend to be more than civil, then high school would truly be the best years of his life, like all the TV shows and books kept telling him.

Bucky would never say it outright to Steve’s face, but something about Peggy always set him off, and he alternated between ungodly quiet and the wrong side of snide when they were forced together. Steve tried several times to pry specific reasons why couldn’t get on with Peggy out of him, but without fail Bucky would clam up and sprout denials until he was blue in the face.

Now after a full year, Steve was tired of it all. Frustrated with the false explanations, last-minute cancellations, and choosing between the two most important people in his life.

Peggy only realized how close Steve had been with Bucky several weeks after they had started dating. They were on their way to a restaurant in Steve’s neighborhood, and passed by the Vinegar Hill dog park. Steve automatically reached for the gate and was halfway in before Peggy asked him what the hell he was doing. Steve paused, and nearly broke down right there when it struck him that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been there with Bucky. Over dinner, Peggy told him blandly that the only reason she didn’t like Bucky was because he seemed so obviously uncomfortable around her. And because he made Steve feel like crap, far more so than a best friend had the right to.

“Come on then,” Peggy said determinedly, jerking her head towards the entrance of the movie theater. “It’s not like we need Barnes to have a good time at the cinema, do we?”

A year ago, the concept of disagreeing with that would have had Steve in hysterics. Now, he could only let Peggy march them both into the movie theater and buy him popcorn to make up for missing his best friend.

“What came up?” Peggy asked as they sat down, watching as the pre-previews flickered across the screen.

Steve stared straight ahead, barely taking in the commercial actors smiling too widely and talking too loudly about a blockbuster that wasn’t due in theaters for another year. “Said that Connie had a stomach ache, and he was staying with her to make sure she gets better,” he said dully.

Peggy snagged a piece of popcorn. “She couldn’t buy her own ginger ale?” She popped it in her mouth, frowning slightly.

“He’s being a good boyfriend,” Steve argued, but he privately agreed with Peggy.

She hummed noncommittally as she sat back in her seat. “I didn’t even know Connie was coming.”

“Yeah, well, Bucky hasn’t been too communicative lately,” Steve said, trying and probably failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Peggy smiled sympathetically. “I’m sorry he couldn’t be here.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve said brusquely. “It’s not like I thought he would make it. He couldn’t last time, or the time before that, anyway.”

He could tell by the way her eyes narrowed that she didn’t believe a word he was saying, so he squeezed her hand, grateful that she didn’t call him out.

The theater dimmed, the screen in front of them fading to black as the orchestral score of the first movie trailer began thrumming through the speakers on the walls. The conversations around them petered off whispered one-liners instead.

“You miss him?” Peggy murmured, eyes soft as they roved over his face illuminated by dancing popcorn and plastic cup lids on the screen in front of them.

Steve forced himself to keep looking at her, focusing on her wide brown eyes and downturned ruby mouth. “I guess,” he breathed. “We don’t hang out as much, but I see him in school all the time.”

She leaned over to kiss him softly but firmly on the cheek. “At least I get you all to myself, and I’m not sorry about that.”

He didn’t wipe her lipstick away from her cheek, and wore it like a brand for the whole movie.

Peggy and Steve saw the movie on Friday night, and Bucky dodged the rest of Steve’s texts to meet up and hang out on Saturday, claiming that Connie was still getting over her food poisoning. If Bucky wanted to stick around while his girlfriend threw up or sat on the toilet for ten hours, Steve wasn’t going to be the one to drag him away. He texted Bucky that he was happy for him; it seemed like he really cared about Connie. God knows he wouldn’t have gone to these lengths for his past girlfriends. He’d had four alone since Steve had started dating Peggy a year ago.

On Sunday, Steve had texted him once in the morning to let him know that he and Peggy would be making pizza together for dinner, and that they could easily accommodate more if Connie was feeling better. He got as far as typing out that his ma would love to see Bucky sometime, but deleted it before pressing send. He didn’t need to guilt Bucky into spending time with him. They were best friends, after all.

Bucky didn’t respond.

* * *

Steve’s magic didn’t improve as the years marched determinedly towards high school graduation. After three years of high school, his spells had only become more erratic, partially complying with whatever his teacher was trying to teach him, and mostly misfiring. Steve wouldn’t have survived two years of Practical Magic I or II without Dum Dum, always in his corner when spells went awry.

Which was why he was looking at the shattered remnants at a plain hourglass on his desk.

Stunned and totally at a loss to explain what the hell went wrong, Steve looked around, catching Dum Dum’s bewildered stare.

Steve raised a hand to brush the sand that had exploded on him out of his bangs, apologies dying on his lips as he looked up to see Ms. Nova staring down at him. Her white hair was pulled into a severe bun at the nape of her neck, and she was thankfully sand-free, which was more than could be said for the front of Steve’s shirt and his face. “Not quite what I had in mind when I asked you to slow the sand in the hourglass,” she said delicately, gesturing to Steve’s desk.

“Sorry,” Steve muttered, ignoring the snickering from the back of the room.

“Mind telling me what happened?” she asked as she waved her hand over the mess. The sand coalesced into a neat spiral that flew into the newly restored hourglass.

“I don’t know,” Steve said honestly.

“You were distracted and frustrated. You need to concentrate,” Ms. Nova tutted before she raised her voice to address the rest of the glass. “As we move forward in your magical education, we ask you to perform more complicated, powerful spells, which result in more dangerous outcomes if done improperly. I will remind you all yet again that the consequences an incorrect Bonding spell, most likely the most powerful spell you will ever perform, are permanent disability or even death, in severe cases.” The corner of her mouth ticked up in what could be generously called a smile. “So, it is better to mess up now, and not on a spell that really matters.”

She flipped the hourglass on Steve’s desk, and Steve’s palms began to tingle as the sand started to trickle down. “Try again.”

Steve bit his lip as his hands mimicked the movement Ms. Nova demonstrated at the beginning of class. The sand did not slow in its descent. It turned to water and froze, the glass cracking and falling away.

“Well, that’s not exactly what I was expecting,” Ms. Nova said as she peered at the miniature ice sculpture on Steve’s desk in the shape of falling sand. “But good work,” she said, to Steve’s infinite surprise. “You stopped the sand from falling, which was the goal of this lesson all along.” She ran a finger down the edge of the statue. “Look, it is perfectly frozen, not even melting.”

“Lookit you,” Dum Dum said with a sly grin as he reached over to punch Steve in the arm. “Nice going.”

“Your intent was correct,” Ms. Nova said, “And even more practical, given that it is much easier for your magic to hold a solid block of ice than several hundred grains of sand in place.”

Steve didn’t say anything, still staring at the failed hourglass in front of him.

“And that’s where I’ll leave you,” Ms. Nova said as she marched back to the head of the classroom. “Magic is highly subjective and comes from within. Most of what we’ve been telling you, the movements and words, are to guide your intent. Means to an end. Accomplished spell casters do not need even those, but can wield their magic through willpower alone.” And without even a twitch of her pinky finger, all of the hourglasses flew to stand proudly on her desk in a neat line. “We will discuss more in depth next class. Dismissed.”

“Holy shit,” Dum Dum muttered.

After their last class of the day, they met by the section of lockers claimed by the eleventh graders. Jim and Gabe joined them before long, griping about their recent history assignment on Familiar rights advances in the twentieth century, and Bucky rounded out the group when he came running from Calculus that had let out late.

After school, they piled onto the G train to Windsor Terrace. Peggy’s house was their chosen locale this Friday, as both of her parents were away on a business trip to London. Jacques opened the door, grinning as Jim held up two six packs they had picked up on the way there, thanks to Dum Dum’s fake ID.

Steve spotted Peggy as they descended into the family room in the basement, her brown curls spread over the cushions. Her red lips split into a wide smile as she caught sight of him. She complained, as she always did, about his bony elbows jabbing into her side as they squished together. He leaned in for a kiss, which she allowed enthusiastically.

Dum Dum took the lone armchair, sprawling out Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he fell asleep in twenty minutes. His eyes were already half-way shut.

Jacques and Monty sat on the couch, a couple of inches apart.

Bucky was sitting on the floor between the couch and the armchair, a stolen throw blanket bunched under his ass so he didn’t go numb.

“Yo, you won’t believe what happened in fourth period,” Jim said as he settled back down on the raised ledge by the fireplace. “Peter asked Gamora to Bond with him.”

“Isn’t it a bit early?” Steve asked, looking around at Peggy and Bucky. He stopped, heart sinking in his chest, as soon as he realized Bucky wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“He said he’s only six months away from eighteen,” Gabe said with a shrug. “And she’s bound to have other familiars panting at her heels, with power like that. Smart of Peter to ask soon. Then he can have time to ask someone else if she doesn’t want him.”

“Did she say no?” Bucky asked as he set his beer down, out of the way of Dum Dum’s foot that was hanging off the footrest of the armchair.

Jim pulled a face. “All she did was yell at him for doing in the middle of Pre-Calc.”

Bucky snorted. “Idiot shouldn’t have done it in public.”

“I don’t know about that. Gamora has more than a flair for the dramatic,” Jim said. “She’ll draw it out, make him squirm. Seems like she’d be into that.”

“Peter’s still nuts,” Bucky declared. “Someone in that relationship is going to be set on fire sooner or later. I don’t know which one.”

“Does she even like him?” Peggy asked, eyebrows raised.

“Sure,” Steve said. “She’d have eviscerated him instead of just yelling. That’s how she shows affection.”

“That’s troubling.”

“You’re telling me,” Steve muttered.

“I’m surprised that more people haven’t paired off to Bond,” Gabe said. “My parents said everyone had pretty much settled on their pair by high school, in their day.”

“Yeah, they also got married at twenty-one,” Jim muttered. “And had two-point-five kids by thirty. Man, I’m not going to ask anyone when I turn eighteen.”

Bucky stared. “Really?”

Jim shook his head. “It’s like marriage, right? But you can’t get divorced or ditch them for someone else if you make a mistake and choose the wrong witch. Your magic is kind of ruined after breaking a bad Bond.”

“You’re not worried about… being witch-less?” Jacques asked.

Jim grimaced. “You just gotta be careful. Our magic goes a bit screwy, but not as bad as Steve on his worst day. No offense, dude.”

“Thanks,” Steve said dryly as Peggy patted his hand consolingly.

“I’m going to Bond as soon as I can,” Jacques declared. “Comme ca,” he said, snapping his fingers.

All eyes swiveled to Monty, who shrugged. “We’ve already talked about it.”

“Congratulations,” Dum Dum said with a smile as he raised his beer, everyone else falling suit.

“You sure you’re ready?” Jim asked, glancing from Jacques to Monty and back again.

“Of course,” Monty scoffed. “Frenchie knows he’s it for me. No sense in putting it off.”

“And Marie-Thèrese?” Bucky asked knowingly.

Jacques shrugged. “She’s probably going to ask one of her friends. I don’t get that sense from her, you know? She’s wonderful, but not my witch. At least, not like that.”

Bucky nodded to himself as he pensively took another sip of his beer.

Steve felt more than saw Peggy stiffen next to him, but her expression remained open and relaxed. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, not quite sure what needed to be reassured. Whatever it was, she seemed to accept it as she leaned down to kiss him on the forehead.

“You two are gross,” Dum Dum announced. “Old married couple already, that’s what you are.”

Steve began to declare, “Just because we’re not dramatic-”

Bucky and Peggy coughed loudly, looked around, and exchanged strained smiles. Steve scowled.

“It’s not your fault, dear,” Peggy said, patting his hand as she grinned wickedly. “It’s what I love about you. Dramatics, and all.”

Both Bucky and Dum Dum pretended to gag.

“Knock it off,” Steve muttered as he blushed.

Peggy kissed the top of his head again with a loud smack. “We’re just not terribly open with our dramatics,” she corrected. “It’s the English in me, I’m afraid. Show emotion in public, and I’ll combust.”

“Very proper of you, Miss Carter,” Monty said, raising his beer in a cheer.

“I do try,” Peggy said as she tangled her fingers with Steve’s.

* * *

“How’d you know Peggy was it for you?” Bucky asked.

Peter and Gamora had Bonded last week, and Peter had showed off his Bonding scar to everyone who would look.

They were sitting on the couch in Steve’s living room. Sarah was behind them, bustling around the kitchen as she cooked dinner. Every once in a while, they’d hear a pot clang or a rustling of cookbook pages over the sounds of the mostly-muted sitcom on television in front of them. The smell of sizzling butter and garlic in the pan filled the apartment, making Steve’s mouth water. The rest of the Commandos were busy this Sunday night and Peggy had Debate, so it was just them, like old times. Steve was half-heartedly reading through the last chapter of his English assignment while Bucky had his mostly-finished problem set for Calculus on his lap.

“I – what?” Steve turned around to stare at him.

“You and Peggy,” Bucky said impatiently. “The old married couple who’s a hop, skip, and a jump from the white picket fence and gingham curtains.”

Steve’s expression turned nonplussed. “Where the hell would you find a white picket fence in Brooklyn.” It wasn’t phrased like a question.

Something in Bucky’s eyes shuttered, but when he spoke, his tone was light, joking. “Don’t ruin my fantasy, Steven.”

“What brought this on? I thought you weren’t serious about Caroline?” He did a double take. “Right? That’s her name?”

Bucky let out a short laugh. “Punk, you met her three times.”

“She was pretty much stuck to your face two of those times,” Steve said evenly. All he remembered was that she had blonde hair, and a raspy voice, not that he heard it much in between all the kissing.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, going a bit red. “Sorry about that.”

Steve waved off his apology. “You were having a good time. It’s not like Peggy and I never kiss or anything around you.”

Bucky shrugged. “No, we split a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh, sorry,” Steve said, blinking as he absorbed the information.

“I met someone. I think she’s different.”

Steve raised an eyebrow but he didn’t look up from annotating his novel for English. “You sure? You’re not going to blame this on a love potion tomorrow morning?”

“That was one time,” Bucky snapped. “And I got Dum Dum to admit it was him.”

Steve laughed. “That confession was taken under duress. I don’t believe a word of it.”

“Shows what you know,” Bucky retorted. “He did it to Monty too, but he accidentally made him fall in love with Jacques, so nobody noticed.”

“Are they in love?” Steve asked, glancing up in surprise.

“Who knows?” Bucky said with a wave of his hand. “It’s not my business. They’re happy not putting a label on it right now. But if Jacques dumps Marie-Thèrese tomorrow, I wouldn’t be surprised. She hasn’t been around too much after Monty and Jacques Bonded.”

“Huh,” Steve said, almost to himself.

“Why?” Bucky asked, eyes narrowed. “You gotta problem if they did like each other like that?”

“God no,” Steve said. “As long as they’re happy, I’m happy.”

“Damn right.”

And because Steve was such a good friend, and Bucky was just going to bring it up later if he lost his train of thought now, he prompted, “So you’ve met someone?”

Bucky swallowed and scratched out something on his graph paper notebook. “Her name’s Bonnie.”

“Do I know her?”

“I don’t think so.”

“How’d you meet her?”

“Uh, at a witch-familiar meet n’ greet,” he muttered, not looking at Steve.

Steve froze. He’d heard of those before. They usually attracted an older crowd, witches that weren’t chosen by a familiar in school and familiars who were getting anxious about their magic fading – even though both Bucky and Gabe had assured everyone that didn’t actually happen. He’d see them in some romantic comedies his ma loved to watch, about some witch who needed to seek out a familiar, and she’d meet a series of crazies before finding _the one._

“I didn’t know you were going to those,” Steve said once he unstuck the lump in his throat and swallowed an irrational spike of fear that his future with Bucky, as hazily constructed as it was, was crumbling before his eyes.

Bucky shrugged. “My parents thought it would be a good idea.”

Steve bit back the point that Bucky’s parents always liked him, and said instead, “And was it?”

“I think so,” Bucky said as he flipped his paper over and began more calculations. “We’re, uh, going to Indiana for a month this summer. Maybe I’ll meet more witches out there.”

“Ah good,” Steve said, looking down as he turned a page of his novel and began underlining random sentences.

Steve didn’t have any other response that didn’t paint him as terribly insecure or irrationally angry, so he kept his mouth shut. Bucky was turning eighteen early next year, almost four whole months before Steve. A dozen familiars in PMA 20 had already publicly proposed a Bonding, and there were two or three pairs that had already Bonded. Steve could see the appeal; they wanted to lock in their witch before anyone else, or they just couldn’t wait a second longer of being without their other half.

His face burned with self-loathing and embarrassment. Trust Steve to blindly follow a stupid promise Bucky made when they were thirteen.

“Has Peggy asked you yet?” Bucky asked tentatively.

“No.”

Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise before his expression turned sympathetic, and Steve’s temper flared at the pity that was sure to follow. “I’m sure she’s just planning something big for you,” Bucky said. “Your birthday isn’t for a couple months.”

Steve bit his tongue instead of telling Bucky that he’d already let Peggy know that Bucky had unofficially asked him to Bond practically the first time they had met. Bucky would clap his hand on Steve’s shoulder reassuringly, as he let Steve down easy, tell Steve that he shouldn’t take him so seriously all the time, joke that he’d be there with him until the end of the line, but as best pals.

Steve gave himself a mental shake of the head to clear it. Bucky had been there every step of the way for Steve, seen all of his fucked up spells. It was about time that Bucky had found a normal witch that could complement his magic in all the ways he deserved to be complemented.

* * *

The night after their high school graduation a week later, Bucky once again convinced him to go to a party. In an unforeseen sequence of events, he had roped Peggy into double-teaming Steve to come out and have a good time. Between two pairs of pleading brown eyes, Steve was a goner. Not that they cornered him both at once in their little plan. Instead, they employed a one-two-punch strategy, ambushing him one after another in homeroom, after school, and in homeroom again the next day, until he agreed to go.

Some rich kid from MUNIS had rented out a warehouse in Green Point, and had people keeping the booze flowing and the music pumping. Despite his handful of parties, Steve had never picked up how to move his body in any sort of appealing motions on the dancefloor, so he contented himself standing by the drinks table as drunken school acquaintances made small talk. Eventually, he found a spot on the roof where a couple of lawn chairs had been left.

It was two in the morning, and Bucky and Steve were both drunk. Peggy had gone home an hour or two earlier, not that Bucky or Steve could tell time with any accuracy at this point, complaining that she had an early flight to see her extended family back across the pond in the morning. Dum Dum and Jim were inside, dancing, while Jacques, Monty, and Gabe were sharing a joint at the other end of the roof.

“I can’t believe high school’s over. Your birthday’s in a month,” Bucky said out of nowhere as they stared out over dark rooftops.

Steve looked up at the sky, colored a faded orange from streetlamps. “That’s true.”

“You’re still going to apply to Bond, right?”

He swiveled around to glare at Bucky. “Buck-”

“Don’t ‘Buck’ me,” Bucky snapped, pointing his hand not holding the neck of a beer bottle at Steve’s chest. “I’m serious.”

Steve shook his head as he ran his hands down the ridges of his red solo cup. “I’m sure you are.”

“You gonna?”

Steve sighed. “I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?” Bucky asked in a strangled voice.

“It’s not like I have a reason to!”

“Now you’re just being stupid,” Bucky said flatly. He tipped the bottle back, swallowing a large gulp as his eyes widened in realization. “Carter hasn’t asked you yet?” At Steve’s shake of his head, Bucky exclaimed, “You gotta tell her she’s got to get a move on!”

Steve snorted. “I’ll let her know,” he said, not planning on breathing a word to Peggy. He wasn’t about to force her hand, beg her to Bond with him because he had no one else. Just because he put all his dreams in one basket when he was too young and stupid to know better, that didn’t mean that Peggy would do the same.

“Seriously,” Bucky said, eyes not quite focusing on Steve’s face. “You’ve been together for like half your lives.”

“Three years, Buck.”

“That’s like fifty in high school years,” Bucky argued.

Steve smiled despite himself. “So says the serial dater.”

“Hey!” Bucky protested. “Then that means I’m an expert.”

Steve rolled his eyes as he glared down into his cup. “So how’s Bonnie?”

“Who?”

“That witch you met,” Steve said impatiently, “at the magical mixer.”

“Oh,” Bucky sighed. “She’s good. We’re going to the Stark Expo in week or two.” He grinned lasciviously over the rim of his beer bottle. “She knows Connie, remember Connie? I had that thing with her in the beginning of eleventh grade. If Carter doesn’t get her act together, maybe I can get Bonnie to bring her.”

“Firstly, I’d never do that to Peggy.” Steve grimaced. “And secondly, even if I was single, I don’t want your seconds, Barnes.”

“Hey! I never said you had to sleep with her,” Bucky said, holding up his hands in a gesture of innocence.

Steve ignored him, staring over at the doorway where more people were coming up to the roof. The bass from the music inside had switched to something slower, the reverberations traveling up from his sneakers to vibrate the liquid in his cup. The summer night air was a little stifling with the mingling marijuana and cigarette smoke. Lingering perfume and cologne weren’t enough to cover the smell of sweat from cooling bodies that had left the dancefloor for a brief reprieve.

“You okay?” Bucky asked after a minute of silence.

“Yeah.” Steve tipped his cup back, nearly choking as he overestimated the amount of drink left. Spluttering, Steve glared up at Bucky as he whapped him a couple of times on the back.

“Woah,” Bucky said, grinning. “Slow down there, pal.”

“What for?” Steve said morosely as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Uh, you don’t want to hurl?” Bucky guessed. “Your tolerance isn’t great on a good night, Steve.”

“Fuck off.” At Bucky’s affronted look, Steve added belligerently, “You heard me.”

He inhaled sharply, staring at Steve. “If you’ve got a problem with me, then out with it. You’re not one to let things bottle up. Don’t start now. Not with me.”

“How would you know?” Steve asked bitterly.

Bucky’s eyes widened as his expression hardened. “What the hell crawled up your ass and died?”

“Don’t put this on me,” Steve said sharply. “You keep doing this – pretending everything’s fine. I hate it.”

“It isn’t?” Bucky asked faintly.

“Do you really think that?” Steve raked his fingers up and down the ridged sides of his cup, turning slightly so he could see more of the skyline and less of the crowd of people behind them. “You know, we haven’t had a real conversation in months.”

Bucky shook his head. “We hang out all the time.”

“Do we?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised. “Really? Like we used to?”

Bucky opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Steve sighed and swallowed the rest of his drink. “I didn’t even know that you were looking for a witch. We’re supposed to be best friends, but I didn’t know that you had found someone who might Bond with. Your magical life partner. How the hell do you forget to tell me?”

Bucky lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug as he studied the rim of his bottle hanging limply in his hand halfway to his mouth. “No, I get it. I should’ve said, Steve. I’m sorry.”

“And if you think that’s what I’m really mad about, then fuck you, Bucky,” Steve said harshly as he forcefully set his cup down on the edge of the roof. The plastic crumpled on impact.

“Jesus,” Bucky said, a wary smirk creeping up his mouth as he set his bottle down to shove his hands in his pockets. “You sound like a girl.”

Steve swore under his breath and glared up at Bucky. “And you sound like a jackass,” he snapped back. “And I get that people grow apart, alright? I have Peggy, and you had all those girls. And I thought: that’s great, he’ll have someone like I have someone. That must be why he avoids me when I ask him over, that must be why we never hang out outside of school.” He threw his arm out, gesturing at Bucky’s guarded expression. “But then you say shit like that, and I _know_ you must’ve not cared about them like I care about Peggy because you wouldn’t talk like that in front of any girl, never mind a girlfriend.” He licked his lips, his mouth a little numb from the lime in his drink, the cheap vodka, and letting his mouth run on. “So that just tells me that you wanted to be my friend even _less_ than that. Why else would you ditch me for them all the time?”

Bucky just stared.

“And fuck you, if you tell me it was just for sex,” Steve added quietly, almost as an afterthought. He glanced at his cup, half-heartedly reaching out. His hand dropped. “I’m getting another drink,” he muttered as he shoved past Bucky.

The music hit him like a wave crashing over as he ducked inside the empty warehouse. He walked to the beat, timing his steps with the shifting masses around him. He got jabbed in the ribs twice by wayward elbows. At the bar, he ordered a rum and coke, nearly shouting himself hoarse as he tried to get his order to the bartender. When the guy didn’t get it after half a dozen tries, Steve just pointed to the coke and shrugged.

Another drink in hand, Steve hesitated before moving back in the direction of stairs to the roof. Bucky was probably still up there. He looked around and saw that Gabe had come inside too, and was currently looking straight at him. With a quick jerk of his head, he gestured to the front door, and Steve followed him out.

“It’s hot in there,” Gabe said good naturedly, forehead slicked with sweat and only lightly smelling of pot.

“Yeah,” Steve muttered in agreement as he took a sip of his drink. The cheap alcohol trailed fire down his throat.

“You okay?” Gabe asked, staring at him for a disconcertingly long moment.

“Fine.”

Gabe laughed. “Sure you are. We’ll just chat about the weather until we’ve both cooled down enough to go back, okay?”

Steve snorted and tipped his cup back again.

“We heard it all, you know,” Gabe said once he caught Steve’s eye.

“I should’ve known. You’re a bunch of gossips.”

“It’s how we roll,” Gabe said good naturedly.

“Well then?” Steve asked after a beat. “What’s the verdict?”

“What verdict?” Gabe asked, hand across his heart as he grinned widely. “I’m not a judge. If you want to put Bucky in his place, we weren’t going to stop you.”

“You agree with me?”

“I see your point,” Gabe said slowly. “And Bucky probably shouldn’t have said whatever he said that set you off. But he’s been having a rough year.”

“He has?” Steve repeated flatly, only half as curious as he would’ve been in other circumstances.

“Sure,” Gabe said. “Parents have been telling him to get his life started, kicking him out the door every weekend to find the lucky witch and get him off their plate. Poor bastard.” He met Steve’s gaze squarely. “He held them off until you got serious with Peggy. She asked you yet?”

Steve shook his head.

“Could be worse, though,” Gabe continued thoughtfully. “At least they’re not going for an arranged Bonding. I don’t think he’d be down for that.”

Steve’s mouth fell open. “I didn’t think anyone did that. I mean – here.”

Gabe threw him a funny look. “Arranged Bonds are a key foundation of many magical cultures,” he said slowly. “My parents and their Bond Maker have been looking for the best witch for me since I was thirteen.”

Steve could not go any redder. He took a large gulp of his drink as he frantically tried to dig his way out of this conversation. “I didn’t-”

“It’s okay,” Gabe cut in with a forgiving smile. “It’s just what my family’s always done. We’re old school. But I get what Bucky is going through, you know? I’m kind of nervous to meet whoever they decide on – like, what if we’re magically compatible but don’t like each other?” He shrugged, and continued before Steve could say anything in response, not that he had anything to say. “And Bucky’s going through the same thing. But it’s different for him since he’s the only familiar in his family.”

“But why didn’t he tell me? About his parents, about looking for a witch, any of it?”

Gabe didn’t hesitate in his response: “He didn’t need another witch judging him for not having his shit together.”

“I wouldn’t-”

“You’re a great friend,” Gabe interrupted as he pat Steve’s shoulder. “But you’re not exactly slow to pass judgement.”

Steve stayed silent, stewing in his memories of the past several months where Bucky had begged off meeting him and Peggy for coffee, movies, or whatever Steve had planned for the evening – all weekend activities, of course. Not everything was falling together into a full picture of what was going on with Bucky behind the scenes, but enough.

“I know,” Steve said, feeling slightly sick. He took another pull from his drink, which didn’t help at all. His arms felt too light, and his head was spinning slightly. He murmured his excuses to Gabe, who let him go with a concerned look. Breathing steadily in and out, Steve walked slightly down the block to lean on a street lamppost. The bright light hurt his eyes, so he shut them as he rested his head against the cool metal. The music was at a more manageable level now, but his head still thumped steadily with phantom echoes of the beat of whatever top-40 tracks they were playing.

“Christ, when you wander off you really wander off,” Bucky voice reached Steve at the same time as his halting footsteps.

Steve closed his eyes tighter.

“I, uh, ran into Gabe on the way out. He told me you were out here. Not going to lie, I checked the bathrooms first. Would have bet good money I’d find you puking your guts out.” Bucky shook his head, raising a hand to his temple with a pained grimace. “Christ, I’ve been drinking too much. Else I would’ve found you sooner.”

“I’m fine.” Steve straightened and turned around. They were the only ones standing in their little circle of orange light. The ground was littered with half-empty or broken beer bottles, but at least the cement wasn’t sticky like the floor inside or the roof. The air was just as humid as it had had been on the roof, but now there wasn’t even a breeze to prevent the sweat from pickling down Steve’s back. His light tee shirt was just beginning to stick around his sharp shoulder blades and the small of his back.

“If you’re going to hurl, at least let me know so I can get out of the splash zone,” Bucky said with a small smile as he pushed his hair out of his face.

Steve sighed. “What’re you doing here, Buck?”

Bucky’s smile dropped like it had never existed. “I wanted to see how you were. I – we didn’t leave things too great up there,” he said, jerking his thumb back behind them.

“No, I guess not,” Steve said.

“I told Gabe – I’m going to head home.” He hesitated. “You good to leave?”

 “You want me to come with you?” He stood up straighter and crossed his arms across his chest, staring Bucky down.

“I guess I deserve that,” Bucky muttered. “Yeah, I figure we can sober up and I can tell you what’s going on ‘cause I don’t think we’ve been on the same page for months now.”

They walked to the subway station in silence, skirting past drunk teenagers smoking on the street and others making out in shadowy corners out of sight from the warehouse.

According to the digital clock by the turnstiles at the subway station, it was close to three in the morning. Thankfully the MTA ran all night long, but that was where their luck ran out. The next train was set to come in twenty minutes. Bucky and Steve walked down the platform to stand where the head of the train would be and collapsed into the nearest wooden box seats, too buzzed to care about the cleanliness of everything. The smell of urine wasn’t too strong, and that was good enough at this hour at a deserted train station.

“Gabe said that he told you some stuff,” Bucky started. “About me,” he clarified. “He doesn’t have the full story, but – I guess he told you enough.”

Steve nodded. “I just don’t get why you didn’t tell me yourself,” he said as he stared down at his hands in his lap. “I would’ve understood. Why didn’t you think I would?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky stalled. “You didn’t need to deal with my shit.”

Steve let out a laugh, harsh and hollow, that echoed around the tiled end of the subway platform. “Never stopped you before.”

“Before it made sense,” Bucky said swiftly. “You were going through shit, with the bullies, and the magic, and stuff. Life wasn’t all sugar and rainbows for either of us. Now, though, your honeymoon period with Peggy has lasted three fucking years, and your magic is starting to sort itself out.” He sighed. “You finally got dealt a less shitty hand in life. Why would I ruin that?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I’d rather have you and your problems than not hear from you at all, you colossal jerk.”

Bucky shrugged. “And Peggy doesn’t like me.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “And when has that ever stopped you? I remember it took a while for me to warm up to you, and look at what happened.”

“Look what happened,” Bucky echoed on the tail end of a sigh.

Steve waited a minute before he said quietly, “You say that, but I have no idea what happened. It’s like one minute we’re living out of each other’s pockets, and the next you’re a million miles away. What gives, Buck?”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Bucky said, a hard edge to his voice. “It’s not that dramatic. We saw each other nearly every day.”

“In Magical Theory II and History,” Steve added sharply. “And you’re delusional if that’s what I think I meant.”

Bucky rubbed a hand down his face, scraping his fingers down the stubble lining his chin. “You have Peggy, and yeah, more often than not I had someone, but it wasn’t the same. When I got a new girlfriend, you’d want to analyze what went wrong, double down on finding someone to stick with me. I was just looking for a good time, you know?” He leaned out, peering down the empty tunnel leading uptown. “I didn’t _want_ what you and Peggy have,” he said as he settled back down in his seat.

“I didn’t-” Steve started, but his denial died on his lips as he took in Bucky’s unamused expression.

“You did,” he insisted. “Then I started not bringing them around at all, but do you know how hard it is to third-wheel for two years, Steve?”

Steve didn’t know, so he kept quiet for once.

“It’s fucking hard,” Bucky added in case Steve didn’t get the memo.

“I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s mouth thinned as lip curled in distaste. “You were happy. You didn’t need to hear about my hang ups.”

“I would have listened,” Steve swore. “I would’ve been better.”

“It’s not better if you’d rather be with Peggy,” he said as he crossed his arms across his chest. “I don’t want to force you to make time for me.”

“I didn’t know you were even an option anymore!” Steve said loudly, his anger jumping closer to the service. “You made me choose Peggy by staying away.”

Bucky didn’t respond for a moment, and Steve exhaled loudly, glaring at Bucky out of the corner of his eye as he stared at the mostly empty platform across from them. The haze of alcohol was fading, and his limbs felt heavier, his whole body weighed down by exhaustion. He brushed sweaty bangs out of his eyes. He would’ve given anything for a bottle of water.

“I’m sorry.”

“Just don’t do it again,” Steve said tightly.

“Alright,” Bucky said slowly. “This is me with a fuckin’ olive branch, okay? I genuinely want to know – What’s up with your Bond situation?”

Steve let out a groan.

“I promise this is the last time I ask,” Bucky said, holding a hand up in the air in oath as the corners of his mouth twitched up into the ghost of a smile. “It’s not an issue of not wanting to Bond, right?”

“No,” Steve said, sounding a little bit surlier than he meant to.

“Just _talk_ to her. You can do that much. Tell her that you’re lookin’ to Bond. It isn’t rocket science. She’ll get the picture.” He eyed Steve critically. “Or are you too proud to ask the Familiar to pop the question? That’s how most people do it, Steve.”

Steve’s fists clenched in his lap. “It’s not fucking pride, Bucky,” he said loudly. “I want to Bond with you, alright? That’s why I never let Peggy ask me in the first place.”

Bucky repeated in a strangled voice, “Never let Peggy…?”

“I told her a year ago that you were going to ask me,” Steve muttered. “Presumptuous, I know,” he said dryly with a rueful smile. “But, I’m nothing if not an optimist.”

Bucky stared at Steve, blue eyes wide in surprise. He didn’t say anything until the train pulled out of the station, clearing his throat before speaking. “You’re not going to Bond with Carter?”

“No.”

“Even if she asked you tomorrow?”

“Not if you asked me tonight.”

The words slipped out before Steve’s brain could catch up with his mouth. He bit his lip and shifted slightly in his wooden seat, the flat planes digging into his thighs as he tried to get comfortable. It was useless.

Bucky swallowed and reached up to run a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes, as he stared at Steve. “You’d chose me?”

“Isn’t that what we’ve been talking about all night?” Steve asked wryly as he studied Bucky’s stunned face.

Bucky didn’t hesitate: “Bond with me.”


	2. Part II

Steve stared down at the 4F stamp on his copy of his Registration to Bond form, swallowing to steel his nerves as he left the examination room and went to face Bucky outside. The government facility was just like the three others he’d been to, sterile and faded white. They reminded him of his ma’s ward whenever he visited, plain linoleum countertops and haphazardly organized papers covering every surface. It smelled faintly of magic, a strange tingle up and down Steve’s spine when he had first crossed the threshold. He’d never been inside an all-magical establishment, where all employees were witches or familiars. Even PMA 20 employed some humans to teach non-magical subjects. But here, as part of the government’s Department of Magical Services, everyone could perform magic.

At least this examiner had been kind about the let down, telling Steve with a sympathetic smile that a Bond might be too strenuous on his erratic magic. The witch had warned Steve that he could endanger himself and the familiar he was hoping to Bond with. Steve had nodded, the embarrassment coursing through his veins preventing him from looking the witch in the eye as he saw his way out.

Bucky was leaning against the side of the building, fiddling with his phone as he waited. All of the residual magic sent his familiar senses into overdrive, as he found out when Steve first tried his first examiner. So now he waited outside.

“How’d it go?” Bucky had barely gotten the question out before his hopeful face fell. “That bad?”

“She was nice,” Steve said by way of answer.

“Sorry.”

“Believe me, it’s not your fault,” Steve said darkly as he crumpled up the Application to Bond form and tossed it in the trash can on the nearest street corner.

“You want to try again?” Bucky asked, voice quiet as started walking down the street.

“I don’t know.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his khakis, looking a little enviously at Bucky’s shorts. The late August weather was sweltering, but Steve skinny legs and bony knees would never see the light of day if he could help it.

Back at Steve’s apartment, Steve briefly debated turning on the air conditioner or performing a cooling charm on the living room. The last time he’d tried, he’d caused a full on blizzard in the kitchen for two minutes before he could fix it. If he pulled it off, though, they’d save on electricity and the room would be instantly cooler. They wouldn’t have to wait for the cold air to circulate.

Damn it all; he was hot, and he’d had a shitty afternoon. He tried the spell.

Bucky laughed as he went to fetch a tablecloth to protect the wooden coffee table from the light snowfall and all of Steve’s blankets from out of the storage closet. They huddled on the couch, feet tucked underneath them as the flakes drifted down.

“At least it isn’t a blizzard this time,” Bucky said conversationally as he leaned back and tucked his end of the blanket further around his shoulders.

Brow furrowed in concentration, Steve ignored him and flicked his fingers in the direction of the ceiling. He smiled as the snow started to peter off.

“That’s better,” Bucky sighed. “That wasn’t too hard, right?”

“I should’ve gotten it on the first try,” Steve said, mouth setting mulishly.

“You got it now.” Bucky shrugged. “You always get it eventually, Steve. I told you, you’ve just got more power than you know what to do with. You just gotta learn control.” He smirked. “Be more confident. It’s your magic. Own it.”

“Nice pep talk you pulled out of your ass.”

“Fuck you. I’d make an ace motivational speaker,” Bucky said as he stretched languidly.

“More like an ace therapy dog,” Steve cut in, “if you’re looking for appropriate career paths.”

“Everyone loves therapy dogs.”

Steve chuckled. “Good to know you have a backup plan.”

“What do you mean backup plan?” Bucky asked sharply, leaning forward to stare at Steve. “What if I wanted to have a career outside of the Bond, huh?”

“Then I’d support you.” Steve kicked Bucky lightly in the shin to get him to loosen up. “Course I would.”

“Right answer,” Bucky said darkly, but Steve could tell by the way that Bucky’s gaze wasn’t focused on him that he wasn’t angry at Steve.

Steve rubbed his hands together in his lap. His poor circulation meant his toes and fingers felt cold first, turning blue in mild winter weather and dark purple in below-zero temperatures. That had only happened once, during a massive blizzard when he was seven that had frozen over and locked them inside the apartment for two days. The heater had broken the first day, and Sarah’s heating charms petered out every couple of hours unless recast. The second morning, Steve had woken up with nearly black fingers and toes.

“Wanna wait until I’m out of the room pal?” Bucky asked with a grin, as he watched Steve’s hands move back and forth under the blanket.

Red-faced, Steve sat on his hands instead. “Shut up.”

“Nah, I get it,” Bucky said. “Peggy’s out of the country. You’ve got needs.”

“I’m doing just fine,” Steve said shortly. “Not that that’s any of your business.”

“So how’s the Pegster?”

Steve looked momentarily horrified. “Don’t call her that,” he said, shuddering.

Bucky grimaced. “I’m trying my best here, Steve.”

“She’s doing well. Said she’s enjoying her internship at MI5, and that’s all she can tell me. She’s made a couple friends.” He shrugged. “She’s thinking of applying to uni over there.”

“Uni?” Bucky repeated with raised eyebrows. “College? In England?”

“Oxford, if they’ll have her,” Steve said heavily.

“I – you can do long distance for four years. I know you can,” Bucky said tentatively. “You guys are in love. Romance for the history books, and all that shit.” And Steve didn’t know whether to laugh or cry that Bucky looked so out of his element.

Steve shook his head before he could register the movement. Catching Bucky’s bemused look, he told him, “College in England is only three. But,” he inhaled sharply and said in a rush, “She doesn’t think she wants to keep going. With us,” he added, entirely unnecessarily.

Bucky’s face, normally so expressive, was completely blank. “What?”

She had told him a week ago on the phone. Her voice had shook, but Steve could picture her face, perfectly composed, as she rattled off her logical reasons for staying on the other side of the Atlantic. Peggy had always been ambitious, and Steve wouldn’t hesitate to step aside for her if that was what needed to be done. He’d fight for her, fight anyone who dared say that Peggy didn’t have what it took to be a leader, either because she was a woman or a familiar or both, but he wouldn’t fight her. Not on this.

So he didn’t, and Peggy hadn’t even bothered to hide her surprise.

He’d felt a little pride as he came to his decision. Bucky had been telling him for years to learn to pick his battles.

Their conversation had been rational, and Steve had only broken down after they hung up, grateful beyond belief that Sarah was on call that night. He had curled up on the couch watching whatever mind-numbing action movies he could find on television that late. He had picked up his phone half a dozen times to call Bucky, to ask him if he was doing the right thing, but he never went through with it. He and Bucky were just starting to regain their footing, settling back into whatever synch they had fallen out of over the past year or two. No point in risking that by bringing up his problems with Peggy. And if he couldn’t tell Bucky, then it gave him a reason to put on a brave face when he was with him. Pretend nothing was wrong.

“You okay, pal?” Bucky asked blinking at Steve. “That’s a hell of a bombshell to drop.”

“I’ll be fine,” Steve said in a low voice. “We were high school sweethearts, not supposed to last, and all that.”

Bucky kicked him, ignoring Steve’s yelp of surprise. “Most high school relationships are flings, like what I was doing. You and Peggy were different,” he said simply. “You loved each other, no drama, no fanfare, no… high school stuff like that.” He rolled his eyes. “If you’d have asked me, I would have guessed you were a married couple in your 90s, for how stable you two were.”

“That sounds boring,” Steve said, frowning.

“It sure does,” Bucky said with a shrug. “But was it?”

“No.”

“Yeah, and that’s why I’d never in a million years thought you’d break up.” Bucky’s brow furrowed in concern. He waited a moment before venturing, “It’s not cause of me, right?”

“You?”

“Never mind,” Bucky said, digging under the blanket to pull out his phone.

“No? It wasn’t,” Steve said. He mustered up the ghost of a smile. “Not everything’s about you, you know.”

“Should be, though,” Bucky said, chuckling quietly.

“The world would be a better place if it revolved around Bucky Barnes,” Steve declared.

“Damn right,” Bucky agreed as he threw off the blanket. “Come on, I think our usual plans of hanging around doing nothing aren’t going to cut it today. It’s past five. Want to go get a drink? Your choice whether we talk about Peggy or come back here and blow up tons of Nazis after we’re properly liquored up. We still haven’t the shield-only run through of Howling Commandos III.”

“That can’t be healthy coping,” Steve tutted even as he got to his feet.

“Who cares?” Bucky asked, deliberately casual, as he slipped on his shoes. “We’re young and stupid. Healthy coping is for adults. Come on.”

* * *

“You’ve got to be joking,” Steve said flatly as Bucky explained his plan.

“No joke. He’s a legitimate examiner!”

“He’s a quack.”

Bucky groaned and shoved his phone with the name and address of Steve’s potential fifth examiner that might, and Steve mentally calculated the odds as ten thousand to one, sign off on Steve’s Registration to Bond. “He’s our last chance, Steve!”

“Yeah, maybe that last one should’ve been our last chance,” Steve argued, pushing the last of his French fries around his plate.

Bucky stabbed at his omelet, viciously spearing a bit of egg on his fork and shaking it at Steve for emphasis. “I’m starting to think you don’t want to Bond. Giving up so easily.”

“Easily?” Steve squawked. “We’ve been through this four times! It’s been almost six months. My own mother thinks I’m crazy for going back again and again.”

Bucky sent him an extremely unimpressed glare. “Steve, you’re so pigheaded you once got your ass kicked by Gilmore Hodges five days in a row because you wouldn’t let his crack against familiars go,” he groaned. “Why the hell are you throwing in the towel now?”

“Maybe they’re right.” He nibbled on an end of a long fry and stared at his plate. “They are the government. They might know more than we do.”

“No they don’t.” Bucky’s jaw clenched. “I don’t trust any of them farther than I could throw ‘em. What the hell do they know about sensing witches and evaluating powers? That’s familiar stuff. And I know, I know, they’re all witches because familiars are harder to come by and don’t tend to enter the job market independently, but you need a familiar examiner. I’ve been sensing witches since I was three. It isn’t hard.”

Steve sighed. “I’ve seen four examiners, Buck.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“What I’m saying is that it’s me. We both know it’s me. Maybe you’ll have better luck with someone else.” Steve shoved the rest of his fries in his mouth, avoiding Bucky’s eye as he chewed.

“You’re an idiot,” Bucky said, his voice hard. “Are you seriously telling me ‘it’s not you, it’s me?’”

“We’re not breaking up. We’re not even dating,” Steve said, ignoring the pang that hit his chest with an echo of Peggy’s laugh and the touch of her hand in his. “And it’s completely true. You could Bond with anyone you wanted. I’m just holding you back.”

“You are not holding me back from anything,” Bucky growled. “The familiar chooses the witch, and I chose you. End of fucking story.”

Steve sighed. “Fine. But promise me, if this one doesn’t work out, you’ll at least consider looking into another witch?”

“No.”

Steve should’ve known. “Fine,” he said in a hard voice. “But you’ve got nothing to prove by sticking with me, alright? We’ll still be friends if you Bond with someone else. It won’t be the end of the world.”

“Not the end, but a damn sight worse than this one,” Bucky said firmly as he squirted more ketchup onto his eggs and tipped half of his home fries over to Steve’s mostly empty plate.

“I’ll make you a deal.”

“Yeah?” The word came out muffled, Bucky’s mouth stuffed with more omelet.

“I’ll see this examiner if you promise to look at other witches.” When Bucky swallowed angrily and looked like he was going to choke, Steve hurriedly assured, “You don’t have to commit to anything. But, just try, alright?”

Bucky hesitated, eyes narrowed as he assessed Steve, who tried to keep his expression pleasantly neutral and completely nonthreatening. Eventually, Bucky jabbed his fork in Steve’s direction, and said, “These potential witches you think I’m going to Bond with are going to get the bare minimum, you hear me?”

“That’s all I ask,” Steve said, placating.

Bucky grumbled something inarticulate into the last of his eggs. It was probably a swear or two, but Steve didn’t care.

* * *

“I – should I tell Peggy of what’s going on?” Steve asked as they sat on the train to Wall Street, and to their newest Bond Registration Center.

“What?” Bucky whirled around from staring at his reflection in the dark windows showing only the tunnel outside.

“Last time I talked to Peggy, she said to keep her updated on the Bonding situation. She kind of insisted on it, actually.”

Bucky’s face slipped into a frown. “Let me guess, she wanted to stay friends too?”

“She didn’t say it exactly like that…”

“Christ, you two don’t know anything, do you?” Bucky let his back fall against the door so he could glare balefully at Steve. “You can never get over an ex if you stay friends.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve inhaled sharply and muttered, “What if I don’t want to?”

“What?”

Steve shook his head. “Forget it.” He ran a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs back from his face as he stared at an advertisement for one of the City University of New York schools above the door.

“No, wait a moment,” Bucky said as his blue eyes bored into Steve’s face. “I know you’re not over Peggy and it’s going to be a while, but you don’t want to try?”

Steve shrugged, trying and failing to stop the embarrassment spread across his face. “It’s Peggy, you know?”

“No I don’t,” Bucky said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought you’d broken up.”

“We are,” Steve admitted, “But I don’t know.”

“Use your words,” Bucky tutted. “I know you got lots of them.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“And you’re still mooning over an ex, so who’s really winning at life here?” Bucky countered.

“Probably neither of us, then.”

Bucky snorted, but didn’t argue.

Face red as the Number 2 sign right by his head, Steve said quietly, “I can’t get over her. What if she was it for me?”

Bucky stayed silent for a moment, brow furrowed in thought. “If you really thought she was the only girl out there for you, you’d never have let her go,” he said with a small smile. “You’d be selfish for once in your damn life, and keep that person all to yourself, in any way you could have them. I know you’re stubborn as hell, but you’re resourceful, and you’d figure it out. It might not be picture perfect, but something is better than fucking it all up and losing the best thing you’ll ever-” He broke off, flushing, as the train conductor announced their stop, and they hurried out.

Steve glanced at Bucky curiously as they reached street level.

“Come on,” Bucky said, brow furrowing with worry as he glanced up at the darkening sky. “It’s this way.”

The Registration Center was only a short distance, but they ran as the sky opened and rain started pouring down. The weather mostly welcome after the heat they’d been having all of August, but as Steve sat shivering in the dusty waiting room, hair plastered to his head, socks squelching in his shoes, he couldn’t help wishing it had waited an hour or two. Due to the weather, Bucky couldn’t even wait outside. If he was in his familiar form, Steve knew his hackles would be raised at all the magic that lingered in the air. Now, he just wore a sullen expression and tenseness in his shoulders. He sneezed, glaring balefully around the room.

Bucky clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder when Steve’s name was called. Steve got up, clutching his partially-filled out Registration form that the receptionist had handed to him.

The wall of the examination room was filled with watermarked papers of certifications and diagrams of spellwork interspersed with what must be vacation photos of island getaways. The trash was filled with a Styrofoam container that still smelled of street food. The room was stuffy and humid, a small fan on the desk in the middle of the room was whirling away but did little to dispel any actual air.

The examiner was tall, looming over Steve as he shook his hand too firmly and introduced himself as Examiner Jack Rollins. He was Steve’s first familiar examiner.

Steve squared his shoulders and they began the exam.

If Rollins face was any indication, the exam did not go well. “So, how many exams does this make?” he asked as they finished up.

“Why?” Steve asked, eyes narrowing as he took in the examiner’s knowing smirk. “It’s not illegal to take multiple exams. There is no official cap. I checked.”

“Course not,” Rollins said with a chuckle. “Else I wouldn’t be in business, would I?”

“Business?” Steve echoed, a heavy weight of foreboding settling in the pit of his stomach.

“Well sure,” Rollins said as he leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Business. The exchange of goods and services. You slow or something?”

“An examination and registration to Bond is a free service provided by the United States government,” Steve said slowly. “But I’m not sure that’s the service you are talking about.”

“Maybe not so slow after all,” Rollins said with a shake of his head. He sat back up. “So, what kind of goods you got, kid?”

Steve levelled him a flat look. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Rollins sighed heavily like conversing with Steve was about as enjoyable as running headlong into a brick wall. “Five hundred dollars for the signed Registration, and another two for access to Bonding instruction class with a teach that won’t ask any questions.”

Steve blinked. “Five hundred?” he repeated in a strangled voice.

“You didn’t know?” Rollins asked, frowning. “How the hell did you hear about me?”

 “Bucky – my familiar-”

“Not your familiar without that signed form,” Rollins cut in snidely.

“He dug up your name after I didn’t pass previous Registration tests,” Steve steamrollered on as met Rollins’s challenging glare head on. “I thought you were a quack, but he said you’d give us a chance.”

“So I’m your last resort?” Rollins asked smugly. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Steve’s temper rose like a tidal wave. “That’s what this is all about?” he demanded. “You charge witches for phony registration forms, and authorize a Bond knowing full well that they could kill themselves?”

Rollins crossed his arms across his chest, his expression going dark. “Nothing about my forms are phony. They are all 100% certified by the US of A.”

“Fine,” Steve seethed, “But Bonding is dangerous. You take advantage of desperate witches-”

“Desperate? More like stupid. They know the risks, but they come here anyway.”

“Then why go through the exam in the first place?” Steve asked loudly. “Why go through the charade when you’re going to sign their form anyway?”

“I have to know how hopeless their case is,” Rollins said, satisfied. “And, my god, you’re the most hopeless I’ve seen yet, if you were wondering.”

Steve’s jaw clenched as he crossed his arms across his chest and stood up. “I’m leaving.”

“Good riddance,” Rollins muttered as blocked the door. “And since you seem like one of the righteous citizen types, I’m going to warn you: don’t go tattling on me. If I hear so much as a whisper that I’m being shut down, you will not like what happens to you.”

Steve paused in the doorway. “And if you think that that’s going to stop me from making sure you can never issue another Registration again, then you might have to redefine your definition of stupid. Good day.”

On his way out of the examination room, he caught sight of a small older familiar, his flyaway grey hair tucked under a hat. He was clutching a leather briefcase, and adjusted his round wire-rimmed glasses as he met Steve’s curious glance. “He’s all yours,” Steve told him as he gestured to where he left Rollins. “I’m going to report him the first thing, so I wouldn’t trust a thing he says if you’re here for a consultation or something.”

“I won’t,” the man said in a dazed voice as he took in the rest of Steve, eyeing him up and down with an expression akin to awe. “Were you seeing him about a Registration to Bond?” His gaze lingered paper still clutched in Steve’s hand

Steve looked down, slightly surprised to see it hadn’t ripped “Yes,” he said shortly.

To Steve’s completely bewilderment, the man began to smile. “I am Dr. Erskine,” he introduced, his voice lilting in a distinctively German accent. He stuck out his hand for Steve to shake. “I am also an examiner,” he said, adding quickly, “Not associated with his establishment. I believe someone has beat you to reporting Rollins,” he said, eyes twinkling.

“Ah – good,” Steve said, his relief still not enough to temper his anger or frustration.

“Wait,” Erskine said, “I – I would like to examine you, if you’ve got the time, and if you’d still like to pursue a Registration to Bond.” He frowned. “I can see why you might be put off at the moment, but I might be able to help you.”

The words to decline were at the tip of Steve’s tongue, but Bucky was just outside. Steve couldn’t just leave and tell Bucky that he turned down a chance, no matter how small, to get a signed Registration. “Sure,” he said in a tight voice. “I’ll be right here?”

“Excellent.” Erskine said as he waved his hands to cast a silencing charm in Rollins office. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Steve waited for several minutes, listening as phones rang in the waiting room and people coughed to cover their boredom. He couldn’t pick out any sounds distinctive of Bucky, but Steve checked his phone and read his text from several minutes ago letting Steve know that he was still outside and wishing him luck with the exam.

His fingers hovered over the keys, but Steve slipped his phone back into his pocket without texting back. Breathing in and out slowly, Steve tried to calm himself down.

The door slammed open soundlessly, and Rollins stormed out, red-faced. He zeroed in on Steve, the only person in the hallway. “You!” he shouted.

“Steve?” Erskine called from inside Rollins’ office. “I will see you now. Mr. Rollins, go ahead and call your contacts. I will be waiting.”

Steve sidestepped Rollins and reentered the office. It didn’t look any different from before, didn’t look like the scene of a violent showdown. Steve sat down slowly as Erskine dragged Rollins’ chair out from behind his desk so he could sit without the desk between them.

“So,” Erskine said as Steve silently handed over his form. “Steve Rogers, is it?”

“Yes sir.”

Erskine studied Steve’s form. “And you’re looking to Bond with James Barnes?”

Steve nodded.

“Good, good,” Erskine muttered to himself as he looked up. “Now, why do you want to Bond?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why do you want to Bond?” Erskine repeated calmly, not at all like Steve had the comprehension of a kindergartener.

“Is this part of the exam?”

“Yes.”

“I – Bucky – James – chose me,” Steve stumbled.

“Ah yes, but I am not examining him at the moment,” Erskine said. “I am examining you, Mr. Rogers.”

He swallowed. “I want to Bond because I want to do some good in the world, and I could help more people if Bucky was with me.”

“Not for more power? Not for more respect?”

“No sir,” Steve said. “My mother is a familiarless-witch and she has enough of those on her own. Hard earned, but she’s got them. I shouldn’t need a familiar to get them either.”

“I see,” Erskine said, smiling to himself as he thumbed through the second page of Steve’s form. He met Steve’s gaze squarely. “I will sign your form, Steve.”

Steve could hardly believe it. “But the exam…?”

“Is over,” Erskine said as he began to stand up. “Witches need to perform an exam because power-sensing is not in their usual repertoire, but it comes naturally to familiars. I have sensed enough from you, Steve.”

A knock on the door interrupted them.

“Steve?” Bucky’s head popped in the door.

“Bucky?”

Bucky sheepishly stepped into the room. He jerked his thumb behind him, to where the waiting room was. “It’s been a while. Everything okay?”

“Mr. James Barnes?” Erskine asked before Steve could open his mouth.

“That’s me,” Bucky said slowly, eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion as he took in Erskine.

“How did you find us?” Erskine asked. At Bucky’s bemused look, he added, “There are half a dozen examination rooms, and I cast a silencing charm on this one. It should still be in effect.”

Bucky shrugged, flushing as he looked at his shoes. “I always know where Steve is.”

Erskine looked from Bucky to Steve and back again. “Remarkable,” he muttered as he picked up Steve’s form from where it had been lying on his lap. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a ballpoint pen. “I will do more than sign your form, Steve.”

Steve’s head whipped around so quickly he gave himself a crick in his neck. Rubbing the twinging muscles gingerly, he said, “That right, Doc?”

“With any familiar, your magic might not have been able to safely Bond,” Erkine said as he began filling out his portion of Steve’s form. “But based on your compatibility with James, here, I believe your Bonding will be more than successful. You have the potential to do great things, indeed.” He glanced at Bucky, who was still hovering awkwardly in the doorway. “I don’t believe I told you before, but I am part of SHEILD, Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistic Division. We operate under the Department of Magic. We have been recruiting promising Bonding pairs for a new initiative, and I believe you two show great promise.”

Bucky was the first person to pick up his jaw off the floor. “Great promise? Us?” he asked, gesturing unnecessarily between himself and Steve, who bore the same look as someone who had just been wacked over the head with a frying pan.

“Indeed,” Erskine said with a slight tip of his head. “I can recommend you for SHIELD’s Bonding Instruction class and training program for new recruits.”

“What exactly would SHIELD be grooming us to do?” Steve asked curiously.

Erskine paused as he thought. “SHIELD is looking for powerful witches and familiars to investigate and counteract threats to the magical community.”

“How the hell are we qualified for that?” Bucky asked faintly.

“Not right now, you’re not,” Erskine said with a smile. “But I am certain with a little training, you will fit right in. Are you interested?”

Steve looked to Bucky, who shrugged.

“We’d do some good? Help people?” Steve asked.

Erskine nodded. “You’d be working with the best for those very things.”

“Sign us up,” Bucky said, watching intently as Erskine handed Steve his pen to sign off on the Registration form as well.

* * *

A SHIELD agent named Phil Coulson taught their Bonding instruction class. To Steve’s surprise, he recognized a pair from PMA 20 that had also been recruited. When Peter Quill caught sight of Bucky sitting in their small seminar the first day, he had let out a shout and wrapped Bucky in an enormous bear hug.

Steve and Gamora traded acknowledging nods.

Peter insisted they sit next to them, and the two weeks of instruction passed with relative ease. Peter tended to ask stupid questions for the hell of it, and Bucky would mock him for it, but Phil never lost his temper that they were wasting his time. He did, however, mention he had a Taser after twenty minutes of circular questions and set it casually on his desk, which shut Peter and Bucky up for two whole lessons. They learned about the specifics of the Bonding ritual, where the rare Bonding went wrong, and the trickiest parts of the spells that made up the ritual.

Steve and Bucky had decided together they wanted to perform the Bonding in one of the government sanctioned facilities. They had the option of doing the Bonding at home with a government chaperone to intervene in the case of disaster, but Bucky and Steve wanted the illusion of privacy offered at the facility, where the chaperones were waiting in the wings but not physically present in the room.

“Last chance to back out,” Bucky joked, but his gaze was wary as he took in the sparse room they had been directed to.

Steve didn’t bother to respond as he took in their surroundings. The walls were painted an inoffensive grey, and there was a plain wooden table and three chairs situated in the very middle. There was a window on the other wall, but from the dark tint to the glass, pedestrians couldn’t see in, occupants could only see out. A small wastebasket sat in the far corner. The place smelled aggressively of industrial lemon cleaner, but at least it suppressed the underlying tingle of magic that made the base of Steve’s spine itch, like at the Bond Registration centers.

“Couldn’t spring for something with lumbar support?” Bucky sniffed as he set his backpack down on the floor and threw himself into one of the chairs.

“What are you, ninety?” Steve asked incredulously.

“I’m about to risk my life Bonding to your sorry ass,” Bucky said as he leaned forward, both elbows on the table. “Forgive me for wanting some comfort in what might be my final moments.”

“Don’t be stupid. You’re not going to die,” Steve said with a smile as he sat down.

“Any final words?” Bucky asked with a raised eyebrow.

“May I take you with me, if we fail,” Steve deadpanned.

Bucky snorted. “Sure, pal. You got it.”

He blinked, looking down at his hands which were clasped on the table. “Are you scared?” Steve asked quietly. “Really?”

Bucky opened his mouth, and then closed it. “A little,” he admitted. “But not that we’re going to get hurt or anything. I – I trust you, Steve. We’ll get this right. It’s just – how are you not scared when it’s something this big, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Steve said quietly. “I can’t really believe we’re here.”

“Better believe it, punk.” Bucky reached over to grasp Steve’s clasped hands and squeezed once. “Better get to spellcasting, too. I’m not getting any younger.”

Steve’s eyes flashed with determination. “Right, right.”

“And remember what Coulson said,” Bucky added. “No fancy spell stuff. Say the words, make the stupid hand gestures. It isn’t your sex tape or wedding video. Nobody’s going to give a shit what it looks like.”

“I know, Buck,” Steve all but growled as his hands began to heat with magic. “Just shut up for a sec, will you?”

Bucky smiled, raising his hands to copy Steve’s movements perfectly.

* * *

Halfway through the spell, their progress was palpable. Forehead dotted with sweat, Steve could feel Bucky’s familiar magic that had long lain dormant rising. Instead of mirroring Steve, Bucky was participating. Their magic twined through the air in front of them, spirals in the air.

For reasons unknown to Steve, his magic was always was stronger when manifesting in the cold, ice, and snow – maybe because it was forged and tested in dark winter nights when he was at his sickest, when his magic and his Ma’s healing spells were what kept him going to see the next light of day. He’d mostly gotten over his poor immune system by the time he had first met Bucky, but the memories clearly had a lasting impact on Steve’s magic.

Bucky’s magic, newly released and exuberant as it flew past Steve to coalesce for the first time, smelled distinctly of wet dog and dewy grass.

It made Steve laugh, almost breaking Bucky’s concentration, when he pointed it out.

Bucky retorted, “It’s the dog park, you piece of shit. That’s home.”

Steve ignored the train of thought that wondered what the hell it meant that his home was in ice, and instead tried to draw more of Bucky’s magic out. Bucky gave a small gasp as more tendrils of magic seeped out of him, the palms of his hands, the middle of chest. He slumped at the drain, going a bit pale. Steve paused, but he met Bucky’s challenging glare, and continued the spell, drawing out more and more magic until only the bare minimum remained.

And then it was Steve’s turn.

Bucky repeated the siphoning spell, lips mumbling around the words as the magic flew out of Steve, first gushing like a blizzard wind, nearly double or triple of what Steve had been able to draw from Bucky. Then it slowed to a steady flow, physically pulling Steve along with it. He gasped as he lurched toward Bucky, the table between them hitting him sharply in the ribs.

“You okay?” Bucky demanded.

“I’m good,” Steve grunted as he righted himself. “I’m okay.”

His expression dubious, Bucky continued the spell. To Steve, his magic was being leeched out of him slowly but surely, leaving him groaning in pain. He motioned for Bucky to continue as he struggled to breathe when it felt like no air was left in his lungs.

Bucky paused. The ice crystals hung in the air, frosting over Bucky’s magic.

“No, don’t, I can do this!” Steve gasped, his fingers white knuckled as he clutched the edges of the table to keep him upright. Through watering eyes, he could see Bucky shake his head in disbelief but he continued to pull more magic out of Steve. Steve clenched his jaw tightly enough to hurt, desperate not to make another sound that would give Bucky any reason to stop again. If he did, Steve didn’t know if he had it in him to tell him to keep going one more time.

“I think that’s it,” Bucky murmured an eternity later.

Weakly, Steve nodded as their combined magic hung around them, shifting and glinting in the late afternoon light that filtered in through the window, not invisible, but not quite there either.

“Time to put it all back?” Steve whispered.

Together, they chanted the spell.

Steve sighed in relief as their combined magic poured into all of the empty places within him, leaving him sated and filling his aches. He smiled thinly at Bucky, who finally had some color come back into his face now that the magic was coming back to him.

But the magic kept coming, filling Steve past the point of contentment and past the point of pain yet again. He let out an involuntary shout. The magic seemed to freeze and boil his insides at the same time. It wouldn’t settle under his skin, bubbling and humming with too much energy.

“What the hell, Steve?” Bucky yelped as his body absorbed the last of his magic like a sponge, but Steve’s portion clearly wasn’t done.

“Hurts,” Steve panted, struggling to keep control.

“Now you tell me?” Bucky glanced around to where magic was still hovering in the air. He tried to draw it to him, away from Steve, but it was no use. Bucky had all the magic his body would take. “Come on,” he muttered as he cast the spell for the third time. The magic stubbornly stayed away as Steve grunted and groaned through the last bits of magic that were determined to return to him.

The last words Steve heard were Bucky shouting his name.

When he came to, he found himself in a prone position on a hard surface. He blinked blearily up at the bland ceiling of the Bonding facility.

“Christ,” Bucky’s voice, hoarse from yelling or worry, came from a short way away. “Way to give me a heart attack.”

“What happened?” Steve looked around. He was on the floor, and Bucky was sitting in his chair above him, twisted around so he could keep an eye on Steve.

“You passed out,” Bucky said. “Because your stubborn ass had to take all that magic in.” His face was pale, paler than when he bore through the first part of the Bonding. Inhaling deeply, he crouched down next to Steve, gently pressing down on the middle of his chest, keeping him down.

“I’m sorry I worried you,” Steve said, gaze flitting up to study Bucky’s eyes still wide with fear as they roamed up and down Steve’s body.

Bucky bit his lip. “Don’t do that again, Steve. I thought, I thought-“ He broke off and ran a hand through his hair as he tried to pull himself together.

“I’m fine,” Steve said, reaching up to grasp Bucky’s wrist as firmly as he could. “I’m okay.”

“You weren’t, though,” Bucky said, voice shaking. “You collapsed in the middle of the ritual. You wouldn’t wake up. And all I could think about were those Bonding horror stories that you told me about when you were convinced this wasn’t going to work – and I thought I’d _killed you._ ” He swallowed, gaze dropping to the ground. He inhaled deeply, breath hitching halfway. “I’m so sorry I forced you into this.”

“No, you didn’t force me into anything, Buck,” Steve said as he sat up again to see him better.

“But I did,” Bucky whispered, eyes shuttering as he ducked his head. “I dragged us to all those examiners, and they all said it would be too dangerous, something would go wrong. They were right. _They were all fucking right._ ”

Steve pulled Bucky into a hug, dragging him towards him without a word of protest. He smelled a little of sweat and a faint musky scent that clung to his fur when he was in familiar form. Steve wound his arms around him, squeezing a little tighter than normal as he felt Bucky’s breathing stutter. “I’m fine,” he murmured. “Nothing went wrong.”

Bucky pulled away, blinking rapidly, as he made a sweeping gestured that got at Steve’s torso. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Steve’s his next words died in his throat. “What the hell?” he murmured as he got a good look at himself for the first time since he’d woken up.

“Gonna have to get a whole new wardrobe, big guy.” He laughed starkly, a hollow sound that seemed off to Steve’s ears. “Could be worse. At least you’re not dead, right?”

“Not dead,” Steve repeated as he raised his hands to his face to get a good look at what exactly had happened to him.

“You’re welcome for hauling your ass all the way to the floor so you wouldn’t wake up with a crick in your neck, by the way,” Bucky said as he exhaled a shaky breath. “I’m pretty sure you’re like a hundred pounds heavier.”

“A hundred pounds?” Steve stood up, going a bit lightheaded. He swayed, and Bucky rushed up to stabilize him. He met Bucky’s eyes squarely; they were almost the same height.

“Yeah,” Bucky said hand skirting over Steve’s muscles coved by his too-tight tee shirt, his face still a mask of concern. “The Bond did more than amplify your powers.”

“It amplified… me?”

“Looks like.” Bucky led him to his recently vacated chair and unceremoniously dumped him down into it. “Pretty sure you used to be smaller too.”

“No shit,” Steve said feebly as he struggled to take it all in.

Bucky ran a tired hand down his face. “You need a moment? We’ve, uh, got to finish the Bonding.”

Steve shook his head and stared straight ahead so he couldn’t see any of his new body in his peripheral vision. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Couldn’t agree more, pal,” Bucky said grimly. He slipped out of his chair to rifle around in his backpack for his family’s Bonding knife. Traditionally the witch provided the knife to show any familiars were proposing the Bond that they were valuable enough. Steve, whose family tree consisted of mostly humans and familiar-less witches, had no such heirloom. Steve and Sarah could have sprung for a simple blade, but Bucky quickly nixed that idea. The Barnes had a knife already that they could use, if they didn’t care that the Familiar was providing the Bonding Knife.

Bucky lay the knife on the table between them.

“You wanna go first?” he asked.

“No, it’s okay,” Steve demurred. “You go.”

“You afraid of a little pain, Rogers?” Bucky asked, eyebrows raised, but Steve could tell he was absolutely serious.

“I might need a moment,” Steve admitted.

Bucky smiled a little and took the knife in hand. “You’re sure you want to go through with this?”

“You’re having second thoughts _now?”_

“No!” Bucky said quickly. “Look, if we stop now, you’ll turn back to normal eventually. Your magic that’s in me will return to you. I know you - you didn’t exactly sign up for this.”

“Of course I did,” Steve scoffed. “I knew the risks.”

“You knew about _this?”_ Bucky demanded incredulously as he waved up and down Steve’s bigger body.

Steve shrugged. “Bondings have their risks. No witch or familiar that Bonds comes out exactly as they went in.”

“Yeah, but they’re talking about more power, or greater control over their magic. Maybe a scar or two. Not a hundred pounds and a foot and a half of height!”

Steve crossed his arms across his broad chest. “Give me the knife, Bucky. If you think I want to back out, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Fine.” Bucky begrudgingly handed it over, hilt first.

Without another word, Steve sliced a thin cut up the inside of his forearm and held back a wince. When he gave Bucky the knife back, he did the same, inhaling sharply at the first cut.

“Alright, time to seal the deal,” Steve said with a smile. “You ready?”

“Been ready since I was thirteen,” Bucky said as they pressed their arms together, his grip like an iron vice around Steve’s elbow. Steve held on just as hard, unable to look away.

This magic, blood magic, was more ancient than words and widely banned because of its unpredictability and power, save the Bonding Ritual. Intent, Coulson had said, mattered more than whatever they could do. Will the Bond to set, and it would.

In the Bonding room, Bucky’s arm was warm against Steve’s, and sticky with drops of blood. Steve licked his lips. “You with me, pal?” he asked as he looked up to meet Bucky’s wide blue stare.

Bucky saluted him with his free hand, his smile still a little strained around the edges. “’Til the end of the line.”

Steve’s arm seared burning hot, magic cracking at the site of their joining. He hissed in surprise, but kept his arm in place as his Bond with Bucky solidified. The room whited out for a moment, blinding light pouring from between them. As the room dimmed back to normal, the first thing Steve saw was Bucky’s exultant smile warming him to his core.

Their Bond was completed.

* * *

“One more lap?” Steve panted, face glowing with exertion and dripping with sweat. His tee shirt was plastered to his torso, sticking uncomfortably to his armpits and around his neck.

Bucky gaped up at him and glared, bending over double to rest his hands on his knees. “Fuck you,” he wheezed. “What the hell did I ever do to you?”

“You volunteered!”

“I didn’t think I’d be sprinting a goddamn _marathon_ to keep up with you, you bastard.”

“It was seven miles,” Steve said flatly, but he was grinning all the same.

“That’s seven miles more than I wanted to sprint.”

“It’s good for your heart?” Steve tried.

“I think I’m having a heart attack. Help.”

Steve led Bucky over to a nearby water fountain at the closest exit to Central Park. “Don’t be a baby.”

Bucky just shook his head, ducking his head under the pitiful spout of water. He straightened, water mingling in with the sweat that dripped down his face and off his chin. His face was flushed from the exercise, the damp parts of his shirt clinging to the muscles beneath.

Steve swallowed and shouldered past Bucky to get at the water fountain so he could hide his furious blush and cool the heat pooling low in his gut. He took a mouthful of water, and another, and another, until he got himself under control.

“Come on, let’s get back,” Bucky sighed, scanning the sea of Saturday afternoon park-goers in their jogging gear and roller skates. “There’s a shower back at SHIELD with my name on it.”

“I do have to pee.” Steve straightened, wiping his mouth on the back of his forearm.

Bucky stared for a moment. “Nice.”

“It’s not my fault that I’m well hydrated!” Steve protested. “You can really injure yourself if you do not adequately prepare every time for a vigorous exercise regimen-”

“Cool it, Arnold Schwarzenegger,” Bucky cut him off. “Just tell me what to eat and when to drink. Spare me the lecture.”

Steve pursed his lips. “This is important stuff, Buck. If you don’t have-”

“Steve,” Bucky said. “I’ve been running regularly since I was fourteen. Believe me, I know how to do it right.”

“Oh.” Steve swallowed and looked away from Bucky. His face reddened, this time with embarrassment. He bit his lip to keep any more words from spilling out.

“Shit,” Bucky swore under his breath as he caught sight of Steve’s face. “Sorry, I – I know this is all new to you. I get that you’re excited and want to get this right.”

Steve spent a minute studying the pattern of hexagonal paving stones lining Central Park West. He’d been in his new body for nearly ten months now, but every time he’d thought he’d finally gotten used to it, some upset would come along, leaving him like a guinea pig in a glass hamster cage. Too big. Too exposed.

“It’s okay,” Steve muttered. “I’m sure I’ll calm down sometime, right?”

“You… calm?” Bucky snorted. “Keep dreaming, punk.”

At Steve’s suggestion, they jogged back to SHIELD as a cool down. Every time they missed the light at the crosswalk, Bucky would grumble insults about Steve’s flawless workout ethic.

SHIELD’s training facility was a large stone-faced building that once served as a boarding school for nineteenth century aristocrats’ kids before they were carted off downtown to work at Wall Street. The block-wide building housed dormitories, an extensive training facility in the basement, and a respectably-sized library. The décor inside clashed between the sleek planes and glass surfaces that modern technology favored and the dark hardwood and marble flooring of the original architecture. Men and women in business casual clothing always bustled though the hallways carrying tablets and briefcases full of what Steve assumed to be sensitive information.

SHIELD’s gym had enough treadmills that there were always enough free for Steve and Bucky’s use, but Steve learned his first week that he vastly preferred fresh air over running in place with CNN droning on in the background.

Steve only hung around the locker room for a couple of minutes after he finished showering and dressing, eyes trained to the floor so he didn’t gawk at anyone changing. When he ran out of news articles to read on his phone, he left and stood outside where he wasn’t in danger of an accidental dick spot. Ten minutes of more patiently waiting later, Steve he poked his head back into the locker room and called “You decent yet, Buck?”

He spotted Bucky half-hidden by the first row of lockers.

Bucky was most definitely not decent. His shirt hung limply in his hands, and his hair was a tousled mess of wet spikes from a vigorous toweling. The rest of him was blocked off by a decidedly male body that was pressed up against Bucky’s, one hand splayed around the jut of Bucky’s hip, the other cradling Bucky’s jaw. Steve had recognized him vaguely from a training class here or there, one of the indistinguishable tall, white, blond guys that wore pastel button down short sleeved shirts and brightly colored shorts. He was kissing Bucky with all the fervor of summer wildfire.

Heart in his throat, Steve ducked back out of the locker room. He breathed in and out through his nose, counting his breaths with a level of concentration he usually reserved for final exams and dangerous spells. Bucky could come out any minute, and even if one tenth of Steve’s turmoil showed, he’d be in trouble. Steve was a lousy liar and an even lousier actor, but for god’s sake he had to get himself together; plaster a smile on his face; chastise Bucky for taking his time in the shower like that’s the only worry on Steve’s mind; and talk about what they were going to get for dinner tonight.

After too much time and not enough at all, Bucky emerged from the locker room, lips redder and spit-slicked. “Hey,” he said as he caught sight of Steve.

Steve flailed for a moment as he pushed himself out of his casual lean against the gym wall. “Hi,” he said, his voice higher than normal. He coughed.

 “You okay?” Bucky said as he hitched his gym bag higher on his shoulder and scanned the gym for something that might’ve set Steve off.

Steve shook his head and avoided Bucky’s gaze. “Just tired.”

When they got into the elevator, Steve snuck glances at Bucky’s reflection in the doors. Bucky didn’t look any different than normal, maybe his hair was a little out of place near the nape of his neck, his shoelaces were tied a little looser. Usually Steve would have written it off as the product of a hard work out, but obviously not today.

Steve bit his lip, only humming and nodding as Bucky chattered on. For the life of him Steve couldn’t absorb more than one word out of five, too caught up in trying to keep his inner-crisis to himself.

Since Steve had known him, Bucky hadn’t ever given any indication to Steve that he would ever consider a man as a romantic or sexual interest. He’d gone out with more girls than Steve could name. Heartbreaker, that’s what Peggy had called him whenever Steve told her about Bucky’s most recent string of dates if she was feeling amicable. Womanizer, if she was not.

That couldn’t all have been a front, or else Bucky probably held the Guinness World Record for number of beards.

So Bucky was like Steve, apparently. Men and women both did it for him.

Steve’s brief flare of hope sputtered and died.

Bucky had never been shy about pursuing someone who caught his eye. He would point out a girl across the cafeteria or up a few desks away in class, and a week later she’d be whisked off her feet by the Bucky Barnes charm.

Steve had known Bucky for seven years. If he hadn’t made a move by now, one just wasn’t coming. Hell, Steve had even been reasonably attractive for ten whole months. Even if Bucky wanted a quick roll in the sheets, if that’s all he ever did with men, then that would still be too much time to hold out for Bucky to notice him.

And even if Bucky ever showed Steve the slightest bit of attention, Steve wasn’t ready to be another roll in the hay. Bucky’s longest relationship had lasted maybe three months, and Bucky had confided to Steve that he’d only stayed with her for the last month because of the great sex. If Bucky just wanted Steve for that, then Steve was better off not broaching the subject at all. Better partners than Steve had tried and failed to change Bucky. Steve knew better.

When Bucky asked him if they were still on for dinner outside of the elevator, Steve begged off. Several more hours alone with Bucky sounded like the most exquisite torture imaginable.

“Don’t sweat it,” Bucky said with a wry grin as he hitched his gym bag higher on his shoulder. “It’s been a long day for you. I’ll make other plans.”

Steve didn’t ask if Bucky would meet up with the guy from the gym.

* * *

He found out the gym guy’s name, Will Nasland, through dedicated snooping. Will was a witch, a new SHEILD agent, and had met Bucky during a lecture on de-escalation tactics and communication skills. Steve had arrived a little late and had sat in the back. He hadn’t paid much attention to where Bucky was a few rows ahead of him, too focused on catching up and taking notes. Now, armed with the image of Will and Bucky kissing in the gym locker room, he wasn’t sure if he’d lucked out by not witnessing their meeting first hand.

Steve was torn between spending as much time as possible around Bucky to gather as many clues about Bucky’s sexuality that he may have missed in seven fucking years and avoiding him at all costs to deal with his heartbreak in peace.

He tried to stay away from Bucky for three days before giving up.

“You take notes on that counterterrorism seminar?” Bucky asked as he came in to their shared dorm room from his evening familiar combat training class. A little over two weeks had passed since the locker room incident, and Steve had just about gotten over his terrible habit of glaring at Will whenever he saw him in the hallways.

“Yeah,” Steve said as he reached for his bag leaning up against his desk. “I’ve got ‘em here.”

“You’re a dinosaur. Why is this on paper? Can’t you email it to me?” Bucky griped as he set his gym bag down on his bed and began pulling out his dirty clothes to dump in their laundry basket.

Steve frowned as he held his notebook out. “Hand writing notes ensures greater recall.”

“You’re such a nerd,” Bucky said with a grin as he began to flip through pages that crinkled with blue ink.

“Takes one to know one. Isn’t your favorite tee shirt that one you got from the Stark Expo? The one with a flying car on it that cost 50 bucks and your relationship with your sister?”

Bucky hopped on his bed without looking up from Steve’s notes. “Becca got over it. Mom fixed her hair in the end.” He paused, eyes narrowing at the top of the page, and added, “And you know it’s a prototype quinjet, not a _flying car,_ punk.”

Steve smirked. “Right. But I’m the nerd.”

Bucky nodded to himself. “And don’t you forget it.”

Steve looked up from his computer screen, clicking closed an article on SHIELD’s history and breakdown of departments. “Are you going to be done with those soon?” he asked, nodding at his notebook in Bucky’s hands.

“Probably not. We’ve got that counterterrorism exam and simulation on Monday, right?”

“Right,” Steve said slowly. “Which I need to study for too.”

Bucky flipped a page dramatically. “But you took such masterful notes! By hand! Is your greater recall failing you already, Steven?”

Steve snorted. “Tell you what, why don’t I go down to the photocopier and email them to you, and you do the laundry in the meantime?”

“But it’s your turn to do laundry!” Bucky protested immediately.

“Okay. No laundry, no notes,” Steve said smugly.

“Playing dirty,” Bucky muttered as he thrust the notebook back in Steve’s direction. He wrinkled his nose as he hefted the laundry basket into his arms. “God, this reeks.”

“Probably,” Steve said cheerfully. “It has two weeks of my gym clothes in there.”

Steve opened the door for him, ushering Bucky through first with a grand sweep of his arms. They walked down the hall, passing the floor’s communal kitchen and bathrooms on the way to the elevators. While all SHIELD trainees were given a small stipend, it was nowhere near enough to eat out for most meals. Most used the kitchen a couple of times a week, and there some oddballs that cooked for themselves for every meal.

That was how Steve met Wanda and Pietro, who insisted that no restaurant in Manhattan could replicate their mother’s Sokovian recipes. They were in there now, and Bucky and Steve waved as they passed by. Wanda didn’t look up from whatever simmered on the stove, but Pietro called out a greeting, nudging Wanda with his elbow. The twins were young, sixteen at most. They’d Bonded to each other back in Sokovia, where age laws about Bonding were lax.

Bucky had told Steve privately that Wanda was like Steve – a bright flare of unmistakable power for those that could sense that sort of thing. Most people stayed away, either from fear or jealousy.

Naturally Steve, not one for self-preservation as Bucky so often liked to tell him, had befriended Wanda at his first opportunity. He had found Pietro a bit impulsive and loud, but Wanda was quiet and thoughtful and right up Steve’s alley.

Steve dropped Bucky off on the laundry floor, and proceeded down to the business center. There were a couple SHIELD people in there, some trainees that Steve didn’t know using the space to study and talk quietly amongst themselves.

He scanned the dozen or so pages that Bucky needed, emailed them to himself, and hightailed back to the comfort of his own dorm room.

Steve didn’t _dislike_ SHIELD or SHIELD personnel per se, but something about them rubbed him the wrong way. He wasn’t comfortable enough to completely let his guard down or relax around the people he met. He’d been there a year, and could count all the actual friends from SHEILD on one hand. Everyone from their recruited class were competing for spots on the elite teams, the Guardians, the X-Men, and the Avengers.

The Guardians were the highest magical police force, administering law and order in the face of magical threats to the general populace.

The X-Men were the diplomats, researchers, foremost advisors of magical foreign and domestic policy.

The Avengers were the magical counterterrorism team. If a magical threat needed more intelligence than the Guardians, SHIELD sent in the Avengers.

They only took the best of the best, and plenty of Steve’s classmates believed the easiest way to be the best was to tear everyone else down. Steve, who hadn’t been in such a hostile learning environment in years, fell into old habits relatively easily. He kept himself apart, stuck close to Bucky, and kept his head down. He wasn’t about to make trouble; he was there to learn and get out.

Steve sat around his room for all of ten minutes before his restlessness got the best of him. Today was his rest day, so he hadn’t gone on his usual run or visited the gym. Notebook in hand, he made his way down to the laundry room. If Bucky was killing time down there, Steve would do him a favor and give him some work to do. With their schedule, they really couldn’t afford to sit around and watch the wash cycle for an hour and a half.

He heard and smelled the laundry machines, the soothing scent of detergent and the repetitive soft thumps of churning clothes, before he saw them.

The room was empty except for Bucky and Jeff Mace, a bald eagle familiar that was in most of their classes. At least Steve knew this one, if barely, and that was just because one of the lecturers confused their names once or twice. Steve could understand; they were both tall, blond, and usually dressed in jeans and button downs.

Bucky and Jeff were huddled close, their kiss not nearly as frenzied as the one that Steve had walked in on with Will a week before. It was slower and sweeter, and so much worse. Before Steve could react, Jeff ducked his head to nose at a spot behind Bucky’s ear, and Bucky let out a throaty hum of approval.

With gut-churning déjà vu, Steve quickly turned around and called the elevator right back.

The elevator slowed to a halt only one floor up, and Steve could have punched the door.

Instead, he stepped aside as a group of girls dressed in short dresses and heels tottered in, clearly ready for a Friday night out. Steve folded himself into a small as space as possible to make room, wedging himself into the corner by the floor buttons and the door so that he could edge out on his floor with as little fanfare as possible. He received a few appreciative once-overs despite this holey tee shirt and worn sweatpants, and he put on a tense smile in return.

The elevator stopped at street level to let them out, and Steve couldn’t look at his red-faced face in the reflection of the doors, so he stared at the floor, blinking away the sting in his eyes as he thanked his lucky stars that at least he was alone for the rest of the ride up.

* * *

He left the notebook on Bucky’s desk and went for a walk to clear his head. He was itching for a run, to just take off and leave everything behind, but he didn’t have any workout clothes left. And Tony Stark’s entire fortune couldn’t tempt him to step foot in that laundry room again.

When he came back, Bucky was most of the way through Steve’s notes, and the clean laundry was sitting in the hamper in the middle of the room. “Hey,” Bucky said, looking up. “Where’ve you been?”

“Out,” Steve said shortly as he sat at his desk with his back to Bucky, pulling his computer towards him.

“Right,” Bucky said slowly, drawing out the syllable. “Out where?”

“Just went for a walk,” Steve said as he untangled his headphones to shut Bucky out. “We didn’t have any plans. I got bored.” He couldn’t see Bucky, but the back of his neck itched under the weight of Bucky’s stare boring into the back of his head.

“You hungry?” Bucky asked before Steve could slip his second earbud in.

“No-” Steve started, but his stomach let out a loud growl of betrayal.

“You sure about that?” Bucky asked, choking back a laugh. “I’m feeling pizza. What do you think?”

“I think I’ll be fine here,” Steve said, shoulder hunching as he typed in his login password. “I have a lot of work to do.”

“You can’t be serious,” Bucky said flatly, and Steve heard him cross the room to lean against Steve’s desk. “You have like two protein bars and a browning banana. You’ll starve before daybreak.”

“I’m not that hungry,” Steve tried, but Bucky wasn’t having any of it.

“Nope.” Bucky grabbed Steve’s keys and his notebook. “I have some questions about whatever the hell you wrote in here but if I have to sit in here for another hour I’m going to kill somebody. And as you’re the only person here…”

Steve sighed and swiped his keys from where he’d dropped them on the side of his desk. “You need help?” he asked, resigned.

Bucky beamed at him, and Steve’s breath twisted in his chest. “Sure do.”

Steve pulled on his shoes and they left their room. Their local pizza joint was two blocks away, and neither Bucky nor Steve felt the delivery tip was worth saving the ten minutes it took to fetch the pizza themselves. They were hardly regulars – there were too many Columbia students that lived in the area for that – but they knew to keep their order short and pay cash only.

Bucky kept the chatter light on the way there, distracting Steve with a discussion about his Thanksgiving plans and speculation on whether Becca would come back from college for it or save her miles for Christmas. Steve, who always spent Thanksgiving with his ma, didn’t have much to contribute, not that seemed to phase Bucky who happily carried the conversation almost by himself.

Their pizza came out of the oven ten minutes later, and they snagged a table easily.

“So,” Bucky started once they’d demolished their first slices and were working on the rest, “What’s up with you? You’ve been off all night.”

Steve shook his head, not trusting himself to speak just yet. “I’m fine.”

Bucky didn’t even hesitate. “No matter how many times you say that - with that face, in that voice - I’ll never believe you.”

“Never mind,” Steve huffed as he took another bite of pizza. “You said you wanted to go over the notes?” He glanced pointedly at his notebook lying at the other end of the table.

“That can wait,” Bucky said impatiently. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Steve said through gritted teeth.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed in on Steve’s face, and he did his best not to fidget in his seat. “What happened?”

“Bucky–”

“What?”

“It’s not important. Just… give it a rest, okay?” Steve’s tone of voice didn’t phrase it as a question.

“Clearly it is important,” Bucky said with raised eyebrows as he glanced over at where Steve was glowering off into the distance over Bucky’s right shoulder. “Come on, if something’s bothering you, you shouldn’t bottle that shit up. Let it out.”

Steve gaped at Bucky. “Shouldn’t bottle it up?” he repeated in a strangled voice. “Like you bottled up the fact that you suck face with guys and never thought to mention it to me?”

Bucky went white. “That’s what got your panties in a twist?” he hissed, voice pitched low in anger.

“Don’t paint this like it’s all my fault,” Steve snarled as he wiped his greasy hands on three flimsy paper napkins. He pointed an accusatory finger at Bucky, but took it when it looked like Bucky was angry enough to snap it in two. “You’re the one who kept me in the dark. How long have you been this way?”

“Been this way?” Bucky repeated loudly, mouth hanging open in outrage. “All my fucking life, you ignorant asshole.”

Steve swallowed. “Fuck, that’s not what I – I mean, how long have you known?”

“That I like cock?” Bucky asked, deliberately crude as he raised this third piece of pizza to his lips. “Probably high school.”

“Oh,” Steve said quietly, his anger dimming to a simmer as he picked up his abandoned slice of pizza. “High school?”

“First crush, first kiss,” Bucky listed, defiantly proud like he was daring Steve to criticize him.

“Oh,” Steve repeated for lack of anything better to say. “That’s… swell.”

Bucky snorted. “Swell? What the fuck, Steve?”

“Well, what do you want me to say?” Steve threw his hands in the air.

“I don’t know, that you’re supportive and all that crap,” Bucky said, going red as his sentence trailed off.

“Why the hell wouldn’t I be supportive?” Steve demanded.

Bucky didn’t look mollified in the slightest. “You’ve been pissed at me all evening. Clearly you’ve got something up your ass.” He smirked, adding, “And not in the fun way, believe me,” to get a rise out of Steve.

Face burning with a truly magnificent blush, Steve spluttered, “I am pissed! And-and what you do on your own time is up to you,” as he frantically tried to gather enough of his wits to string together a coherent sentence. Steve should have expected it; whenever they fought, as infrequently as it was, Bucky always knew how to get under his skin. Still, hell would freeze over before Steve shared the real reason why Bucky’s words affected him the way they did. God, the images were enough for Steve to regret wearing sweatpants that evening.

Buck snorted. “Clearly not if we’re having his argument. Let me have it, what’s Saint Rogers got to say about his best bed lusting after guys like him?” He licked his lips, eyes darting everywhere but at Steve.

“I’m not a saint,” he muttered. “I won’t preach at you what you should do in your free time.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, muscle in his temple twitching. “Fine. I’ll do better to keep it behind your back, alright?”

“What? No, you don’t have to do that!” Steve protested.

Bucky levelled him a supremely unimpressed glare. “Don’t strain yourself on my account,” he said flatly. “If it bothers you, then you don’t have to see it. That’s what I was _trying_ to do, you dick. What the hell did you see anyway? I think I’d notice if you walked in mid-fucking.”

Steve had never been so embarrassed and turned on in his life. “I, uh, saw you making out. With guys.”

“Who?”

“Uh, I don’t know him too well? A tall blond guy?”

Bucky bit his lip. “That doesn’t narrow it down,” he said through gritted teeth.

Steve gaped. “Christ how many guys, Buck?”

“None of your fucking business,” Bucky snapped, expression closing off.

“Fine,” Steve said, shaking his head. “I just hope you’re using protection if you have multiple partners.”

Bucky absorbed Steve’s advice in total silence for a beat before he burst out laughing.

Steve cracked a wry smile in return.

“I don’t get you,” Bucky said quietly once he’d calmed down. “You judge me for being into guys, but tell me to use protection. Is it a hate the sin but love the sinner thing?”

“I’m not judging you,” Steve cut in before Bucky could say anything else. “I’d never judge you for this, Buck.”

“But you were pissed-”

“No, I was fucking pissed, Bucky, because you’ve known this for years and never told me,” Steve said swiftly. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t stick with you? That I’d give up what we have because you like men and women?”

“You don’t think I’m gay?” Bucky said, a little taken aback.

“No?” Steve said, nonplussed when Bucky didn’t elaborate. “You dated, like, half the girls in our class. You’ve gotta be masochist to spend that much time and money on them if you didn’t even like them.” He smirked, his smile turning genuine as the tense line of Bucky’s shoulders finally began to ease.

“Maybe I was just using them to fool everyone,” Bucky offered.

“Course not,” Steve said, waving a hand dismissively. “You wouldn’t use someone like that. You’re not perfect, Buck, but you’re not mean.”

Bucky looked stricken for a moment, before he schooled his face into a more neutral expression. “Well, you’re right about one thing. The, uh, liking men and women part.”

Steve could have told him there. The words were on the tip of his tongue, me too. But fear held them back, lodging them deep in Steve’s throat. If Bucky knew that Steve liked guys too, what would stop him from figuring out that Steve carried a torch for him as hot as the goddamn sun? Bucky wasn’t stupid or ignorant to the way people who wanted him reacted to him. The only thing that was protecting Steve’s lingering looks and general clinginess was the shield of their codependent friendship.

“Course I am,” Steve said as he mustered up a smile. “I ain’t stupid.”

* * *

Steve and Bucky were sitting side-by-side in a large assembly hall located in the SHIELD HQ in New York City. Everyone there had been recruited by SHIELD right out of their Bonding; like Steve and Bucky they had been chosen for high compatibility levels and extraordinary combined power. Steve squirmed whenever anyone applied terms like _extraordinary_ anywhere near his person, but Bucky just shrugged it off with a reassuring clap to Steve’s shoulder.

In all, their SHIELD-trained graduating class comprised of about fifty people, chosen nationwide. Most of the seats were empty, and Steve and Bucky had a whole row of chairs to themselves. Nick Fury, SHIELD Director and liaison to the Department of Magic, stood at the central podium, outlining their final test before they would be placed on one of three of SHIELD’s main teams.

Bucky nudged Steve, pointing with a snicker to where they could just make out the curly head of Peter Quill several aisles away slumped on Gamora’s shoulder, clearly fast asleep. Last night had been a particularly grueling physical examination, an obstacle course built to test what felt like every muscle in their body and thoroughly doused with wards to prevent magical cheating. Bucky had pulled something in his shoulder, and was now holding his left arm a little gingerly. At least they had one of the best times.

“As you all know, your final examination is almost upon you. You will be placed at one of SHIELD’s safe houses and set with a task to complete. You will not be debriefed beforehand, so use your best judgment and instincts. There are no safety nets here, so know that your actions will have real-world consequences.” He cast a steely eye around the room, lingering where Peter was surreptitiously wiping a trail of drool from his mouth and where Wanda and Pietro were whispering hurriedly to each other.

“Can’t wait,” Bucky murmured dryly as Fury continued to lecture.

“And of course what separates this test from whatever the hell else we put you through over the past year is that familiars must stay in animal form for the duration of the test. This should not hamper any one of you, be we like to spice things up every once in a while at SHIELD,” he deadpanned, and it wouldn’t surprise Steve to hear that the last person that spiced up Fury’s soup got his head served on a silver platter.

“Crap,” Bucky muttered. “How good’s your mind-reading, Steve?”

“Rusty,” Steve deadpanned.

“I could try barking in Morse Code?”

Steve winced. “Better hope the safe house is soundproof or the neighbors won’t complain of animal abuse.”

“Threats come at every hour of the day at SHIELD,” Fury continued over Steve and Bucky’s hushed conversation, “So you will be leaving for your safe houses in approximately thirty minutes. Dismissed.”

“What the hell?” Bucky yelped as the assembly hall started to filter out. “They said we’d have the whole weekend to prepare!”

“Guess not,” Steve sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. “What do we do next?”

Bucky’s phone chirped. “Got to meet Coulson in room 1A,” he said as he read his text message.

“Freaky,” Steve observed as his phone buzzed with the same text.

“That’s Coulson for you.”

1A was one of the smaller conference rooms, located just off the main assembly hall. Steve and Bucky slunk in, the last pair from their original seminar. After glancing around the room, Coulson began divvying up a pile of backpacks with their last names hastily scrawled on post-its clumped in the middle of the conference room table. “There are rations to last you the weekend, and your extraction will be at 0800 Monday morning. Be sure to be standing in the exact spot you arrive in, or we’ll have to bring in our Locator to assist with the transport, and May will not be happy with me.”

He glared at Peter, who was already rummaging around in his pack.

“You have everything you need in there. If you think something is missing that is crucial to your survival, take it up with Fury. I would advise against it.”

“No kidding,” Bucky hissed in Steve’s ear.

“Line up,” Coulson directed.

When it came to Bucky and Steve, Coulson gave them an encouraging smile before starting the transporting spell. It felt like pins and needles coursing up his body, like Coulson was dissolving from SHIELD one molecule at a time. After a second of confusion, Steve regained his footing as they appeared far away from Manhattan. Blinking way black spots in front of his vision, Steve whistled as he took in their safe house.

“Aw Christ,” Bucky groaned next to him, shivering in the cold air.

“Guess we don’t have to worry about the neighbors,” Steve said, reaching out to touch the trunk nearest tree.

“Just bears,” Bucky said sourly. He lifted his foot and grimaced at the half inch of snow that clung to his boot.

“And probably mountain lions,” Steve said as he looked around the small clearing that surrounded the immediate vicinity of their cabin. “Maybe a bobcat. Coyotes?”

Bucky grimaced as he peered through the trees. “Shit, I should transform, right? When does the test begin?”

Steve glanced at the post-it note still clinging, barely, to the outside of his pack despite the frigid wind blowing through. “Says as soon as we set foot inside the house. How cold are you?”

“A bit,” Bucky said through clenched teeth. “Aren’t you?”

“I run a little hot, I’ll be alright for a couple more minutes,” Steve said as he tucked the post-it into his pocket before it could get swept away. “It also says that we’ll learn more about what we’re supposed to be doing inside.”

Bucky huffed and made for the door. “What are you waiting for then?”

“We should establish a code while we still have time,” Steve said. “I know you’ve always been able to read me because of your familiar senses-”

“Familiar senses don’t have anything to do with it,” Bucky cut in, grinning wickedly as he crossed his arms across his chest. “You’re just an open book Steve, face it.”

“Fine,” Steve said, glancing around the woods. Even though it was barely four o’clock in the afternoon when they had left SHIELD, the sun was already setting. The shadows were growing longer, and the surrounding forest loomed darker than when they had arrived minutes ago. “Code? Not Morse Code,” Steve added as Bucky’s mouth opened. He shut it with a snap.

“How about one bark for yes, two barks for no, and I’ll just look at you funny if I don’t get it the first time,” Bucky said in one breath. “Can we go inside? I’m freezing my nuts off out here.”

“Good enough,” Steve said as his fingers started to prickle with the impending cold. “We’ll work something more complicated out if we need to.”

“Great,” Bucky said as he transformed and bounded towards the cabin porch.

“Maybe I’ll have a quiet two days you yammering away every minute,” Steve said as he turned the doorknob. He glanced down to waist-height, grinning as Bucky could only head-butt him instead of retorting back.

The inside was dark, so Steve cast an illuminating charm, holding his handheld bundle of light aloft as he took in the one-roomed cabin. As soon as he caught sight of a light switch by the door, he flipped it on. An overhead light attached to a ceiling fan came to life. There was a small kitchenette in the far corner, equipped with a drying rack and three plates already stacked. The counter space was devoid of a microwave, but a small stove was placed next to the sink. At the other corner, furthest from the door and the windows, stood a wooden rope-bed. Most of the far wall was taken up by a fireplace surrounded by brick.

Facing the fireplace was a large couch, with a delicately carved wooden table in between. The highly polished surface gleamed, reflecting the ceiling light rocking back and forth with the force of the fan. A laptop was sitting innocently on top.

Steve switched out his illuminating charm for a fire spell and sent it over to empty fireplace with a wave of his hand, where it spluttered and died. As the smoke dissipated, Bucky let out a laugh that sounded more like a sneeze.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Steve said sourly as he bent to inspect the logs he had seen a second too late piled off to the side. He eyed it critically, running a finger down the handle of an axe that was propped up against it. “I don’t think there’s enough here to keep us through the night.”

Bucky trotted over to the pile of logs, nosing one loose and picking it up in his mouth to drop in front of Steve. He backed up, kept his head in line with the rest of his body, staring at the piece of wood. His tail stood straight out. A low growl sounded in his throat.

Two identical logs appeared.

Bucky sat on his haunches, clearly pleased with himself. He stared up at Steve, head cocked to the side as if saying, couldn’t you think of that?

“Copy spell,” Steve muttered. He glared a Bucky. “You don’t have to look so smug about it.”

Bucky snorted and nosed one of the logs in the direction of the fireplace.

“You wanna light it too?” Steve asked with a smile. “Seems like I should just leave the rest up to you since you’ve got all the answers yourself.”

Bucky dropped the log and flopped onto the floor, legs in the air.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Steve ran a hand down his face. He peeked through his fingers as Bucky’s tail started thumping on the floor in a steady rhythm. “I’m assuming you want belly rubs? Are you really going to be this much of an asshole this whole weekend?”

Bucky barked. And then barked again.

“No,” Steve said sternly. “No belly rubs. For god’s sake have some dignity. You’re not a real dog. But I’ll finish up the fire, if you’re going to be a jerk.”

Bucky reluctantly got back to all fours as Steve piled a couple logs into the fireplace, opened the flue so the cabin wouldn’t fill with smoke when the fire started, and lit a small flame that crackled larger, sparks flying.

“You know, I’ve never had a particularly strong desire to go camping,” Steve mulled, half to himself, half to Bucky, who had crossed the length of the cabin to scrabble with both paws at the fan/light switch until he got it to shut off. The dancing light of the fire lit the cabin instead. He returned to Steve’s side, and Steve patted his head idly before moving to the couch. “This isn’t so bad, right?”

Bucky hopped up next to him and leaned into Steve’s side, his long fur prickling Steve’s skin through his shirt. Steve looked at him. “This is okay?” he asked as he motioned for them to head to the couch. “I know you’re not a dog, but I can pet you and stuff, right? I realize I should have asked when you could have told me off if you wanted, but this is me asking, now.”

Bucky didn’t bark, just nosed his head underneath Steve’s hand that was resting on his lap and sighed. He glanced up at Steve, eyebrows coming together judgmentally.

“Yeah, I know I’m being stupid,” Steve muttered as he ran his nails down Bucky’s head, digging into the fur at the nape of his neck. Bucky shivered in delight underneath his touch.

He looked up, inhaling slowly as he pulled the laptop closer to him. “Time to figure out what the hell we’re doing here.” He swung the screen up, squinting in the artificial light from the generic pastel desktop wallpaper.

There were three word documents: Emergency Procedures, Rules & Regulations, and Mission Objective.

Steve clicked open Emergency Procedures first, skimming through the directions for a SHIELD-custom spell to call for help and, in worst-case scenario, transport them back to SHIELD in New York. The Rules and Regulations were pretty much what Steve expected, no contact with anyone within SHIELD, or they will forfeit their future position. There was no wifi at the cabin.

There were only two Mission Objectives: 1) protect the safe house and 2) survive.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Steve said, staring at the words on the screen. “What a cliché. It’s just scare tactics, you know that?”

Bucky barked once.

“Good.” Steve reached over to pat Bucky’s head. “I’m going to set up wards. Shield the place from attacks. What do you think?”

Bucky barked again.

Steve stood up, fists clenching as he called their magic to the surface. Fingers splayed, he spread the ward to the outer reaches of the clearing. It should prevent any malicious spells from reaching the cabin. Any hexes or curses would bounce right off, hopefully back at their caster.

“Remind me to renew that before we go to bed,” Steve told Bucky.

Bucky shook his head, and Steve felt him tug on his magic as Bucky started his own warding spell to protect the safe house. Steve closed his eyes, concentrating on trying to figure out what Bucky was doing. His ward was different than Steve’s, targeting the mind instead of the magic, preventing anyone with ill-intent from coming inside.

“Good idea, pal,” Steve said as Bucky sat back on his haunches, panting. “You’ve always been better than me at mind stuff.”

Steve hadn’t ever seen a dog look smug before. But then again, Bucky always found the oddest moments to surprise him. Steve glanced down. “Now what?”

* * *

“No dogs on the bed,” Steve said several hours into the evening, waggling his finger. “Nuh uh, house rules.”

Bucky shot him a look of pure hatred and jumped up anyway, bodily shoving Steve to the side as he lay down in the center of the bed. He woofed in a self-satisfied way right in Steve’s face.

“Gross,” Steve muttered and rolled over onto his back. “You’re the worst.”

Bucky woofed softly again.

Steve sat up eyeing the fire critically, “Probably need more wood, right?”

Bucky just looked at him.

Steve sighed and got up to tend to fire and place an extending charm on the fire to keep it going through the night.

“Think they’re going to try anything tonight?” Steve asked as he got back into bed. He ran a hand down Bucky’s long back, smoothing down the sharper bristles of his outer coat and digging his fingers into the softer inner layer.

Bucky sighed, breath ruffing Steve’s hair.

“I don’t know if I can sleep.” Steve stared at the wooden rafters above them. “I mean, nothing’s happened the entire time we’ve been here, but something’s gotta be coming, right? It’s only been a couple of hours.”

Bucky blinked at him, ears twitching.

“Throw me a bone,” Steve said with a smirk. “I got no idea what you’re thinking, Buck.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and raised a paw to place it directly on Steve’s mouth.

Steve shoved him off with a smile. “Got it. Shutting up now.”

Despite what he said to Bucky, Steve fell asleep a short while later. He dreamed he was in the dog park, sometime in early spring based on the picture-perfect weather and verdant greenery. There weren’t any dogs around, but Steve could just make out a familiar figure at their usual seating area, legs sprawled out in front of him, head tilted back to catch the most sun.

“Like it?” Bucky asked, opening his eyes and looking up at Steve as he approached.

“Sure?” Steve said, nonplussed.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I figure this is the best way to talk. Dream sharing, you know.”

Steve took a seat next to him, smiling. “Not as stupid as you look.”

Bucky splayed his hands wide. “Looks, brains, I’ve got it all.”

Steve snorted to keep himself from nodding along. “Could do with a sense of humility.”

Bucky waved Steve’s comment away. “I’ve got spades of that. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. So what do you make of the mission?”

“I think it’s bullshit,” Steve said flatly. “This isn’t a real mission. It’s one of SHIELD’s tests.”

“I thought that was obvious?”

“No, I mean, we’ve got to go into this thinking like SHIELD. Not like the hostiles they’ve been talking our ear off about in training. Be smart about it. Those scare tactics in the beginning? That has SHIELD written all over it.”

“So our wards might not be enough, since they’re the ones we learned from SHIELD in the first place,” Bucky said, eyes narrowing as he gazed off into the silent distance off the dreamscape. “Do you want to engage or try to wait them out? Fortify defenses so we can just sit tight until pickup on Monday?”

“I’d rather not entirely wait it out,” Steve said slowly. “We should show SHIELD what we’ve got. This is a test, so we don’t really need to play it safe. But then again, they’re the best of the best. If we get our asses handed to us, would that really look better than not engaging at all?”

“If we fight, then it depends on how long we can hold out,” Bucky said. “If we fold after a couple of hours, then yeah, that doesn’t look too great. But if we last until Sunday night? Hold them over until Monday morning? That might work.”

“Got it,” Steve said. “So what’s the plan of attack?”

Bucky shook his head. “Too many variables to plan anything. We literally have no idea what we’re up against.”

“It’s SHIELD,” Steve argued. “We know what their tactics are. We’ve read about their past missions with Coulson. I think our shields are pretty solid, so it’s going to be hard to attack without us knowing, at least.”

“Didn’t it take Gamora and Peter an hour to get through your wards in class? With Coulson’s advice too?”

Steve blushed. “Wanda broke through after fifteen minutes.”

Bucky scowled. “Magical prodigies don’t count.”

“Still.”

“If they have another Wanda in their ranks, I’d be surprised,” Bucky said slowly. “She’s off the charts. I thought you packed firepower, but she’s in a whole other ballpark, pal.”

“Good to know,” Steve said, looking troubled.

Bucky pat him consolingly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll ace this test. You’re-”

Steve was yanked out of the dream, jerking awake to stare at Bucky’s wide eyes. A tugging on his magic, a persistent prodding against the ward they had set up made him stand, alert. Beside him, Bucky hopped off the bed and began pacing around the cabin, nails tapping against the wooden floor. He paused at the door.

“Sense anyone?” Steve asked quietly.

Bucky shook his head once.

“They’re too far out for me too,” Steve sighed. “But they’re there. Probably going to move in soon, right?”

The words had barely left his mouth than a shudder reverberated through the ward. Steve grit his teeth, repeating the shielding spell under his breath as he drew on Bucky’s reserves to add to their strength. Bucky stood at his right, a tense line of muscle and fur.

The wards shook again, but held firm.

The attacks continued for well over an hour. Spells hit in bursts against Steve’s wards like fireworks that burned against Steve’s magic. They’d get hit by a battery of curses and hexes, one right after the other, so powerful that Steve and Bucky had to renew their wards two or three times every couple of minutes until it was over. Then they would get a reprieve as SHIELD regrouped and built up their firepower to try again.

Over and over, the cycle repeated.

By the time dawn broke and rose-colored light began to creep in through the windows, Steve was drenched in sweat, Bucky was panting, and they both were shaking with near exhaustion. Their fire had burned down to embers, not that either of them noticed or could feel the cold with all of the magic in the air.

“How long’s it been since the last one?” Steve asked as he pulled out his phone to read the time. “Ten minutes.”

Bucky licked his hand, eyebrows drawn together in concern as Steve sagged against the couch. “I’m fine,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

Bucky snorted a doggy laugh and licked Steve’s hand again.

“Come on, I’m sure they’ll start up in a second.” Steve said as he started to get to his feet. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

Bucky leapt forward placing both paws on Steve’s knees, glaring at him.

“Get off, Buck,” Steve said as he tried to push him off, but Bucky growled and snapped near Steve’s hand that was trying to push his muzzle out of the way. “What?” Steve demanded.

Bucky shook his head, shifting his weight from paw to paw as he forced Steve further into his sitting position on the couch.

“I know what you’re doing,” Steve told him. “But I’m fine. We’ve got to hold them off.”

Bucky growled again, teeth pulled back into a snarl, ears tight to his head.

“I can do it,” Steve argued swiftly. “You’re just as tired as I am. What the hell are you going to do, hold them off on your own?”

Bucky just looked up at him, eyes hard.

“Fine,” Steve threw up his hands in the air in defeat. “Go keep watch. You let me know the second anything happens, okay?”

Bucky didn’t even dignify Steve’s request with a response. He trotted over to the door and stood guard.

Steve sighed to himself and spread himself out on the couch. He would migrate to the bed, but if he laid down, he’d fall into a deeper asleep than he could afford. He shifted position, feet handing off the edge, head pillowed on his arm. There wasn’t much else he could do to get comfortable, but he still felt like he could sleep for a year after what he went through this morning.

A little under an hour later, Bucky’s frantic barking got him up like a shot, and Steve raced to Bucky’s side just in time to fortify their ward before a new array of spells hit them. Wincing, Steve felt their defenses stutter more than usual. “I’m taking next shift, or so help me James Buchanan Barnes, I will make you lay down, you hear me?” he growled as Bucky’s magic faltered.

“They must get tired too, right?” Steve asked desperately as he felt a particularly nasty curse try to hit them from below.

Bucky barked twice.

“They’ve been at this as long as we have.” Steve grit his teeth as someone aimed at the chimney, trying to start a fire and smoke them out. “They’ve got to give up sometime.” He didn’t need Bucky’s head-butt against his leg to know what he was thinking. “Yeah, yeah, I know that’s rich coming from me. Shut up.”

The spells stopped after too long, leaving Bucky almost dead on his paws. Steve all but shoved him in the direction of the bed and threatened him with a sleeping spell if he didn’t park his ass down that second.

Bucky complied, too tired to do much else.

They spent the rest of the morning doing shifts, only waking to fend off the most recent attack.

Around noon, stomach growling from hunger and eyelids drooping from fatigue, Steve refused to go rest when his turn came. “This is ridiculous,” he said as he bypassed the sofa and instead washed his face in the sink.

Face dripping, he turned to Bucky as he wiped himself off with one of the dishrags. “We cannot do this for two days straight.”

Bucky tilted his head as he watched Steve.

“I think we need to take the fight to them,” Steve said seriously. “Either there are too many, or we can take them. No use putting it off. What do you think?”

Bucky barked, stretching his paws out in front of him as his tail wagged once.

“Come on,” Steve said wearily. “Might as well get ready.”

When the next round came, Bucky and Steve left the cabin to stand on the porch and get a better visual of whoever SHIELD sent to test them. Squinting in the bright glare of the sunlight reflecting off the snow, Steve stood tall as he surveyed his surroundings. Bucky, leaned against his leg, the warmth of his body leeching through his jeans. There weren’t any sinister-looking ninjas outside, faces covered by balaclavas like Steve had been picturing from watching too many action movies. Instead, their enemy were wearing SHEILD tactical uniforms, black Kevlar, bulky protective jackets against the cold, and cargo pants. Steve could only get brief glimpses of them through the trees, just beyond the reach of his ward.

Steve cast a quick silencing charm around them before saying quickly, “I’ll monitor the wards. You want to go get them?” They had practiced attacking from within the wards before once or twice, but Steve didn’t want to take any chances. “You can sense their locations much more accurately than I can right now. Think you can handle it?”

Bucky yipped, slipping into a low crouch as his tail swayed back and forth steadily.

Steve had just recast the first layer of their protective shield when the first SHIELD agent went down, falling out of formation and clutching his head as Bucky’s knockout spell hit its mark.

A hail of rubber bullets hit them next, slowing as they tried to get through Steve’s magic and lost their trajectory. They bounced off the porch, and Steve flinched at the sound. He added another defensive spell to prevent physical attacks.

“Too close,” he muttered to himself. “You want to head inside?”

Bucky didn’t give any sign that he heard him.

A second SHIELD agent went down, feet sinking into the ground like quicksand, rapidly followed by the rest of her. Steve barely held in a laugh as the agent snorted to get some of the dirt out of her nose.

“Nice, Buck!”

Bucky sat back on his haunches and howled as the SHIELD agents started dropping in earnest from a mix of spells that used the terrain around them, packing the ice-hardened earth around their arms so they couldn’t direct their magic or felling trees to distract them so Bucky could take them down with a properly aimed knockout spell.

Once the attacks slowed and all their protective spells had been replenished, Steve switched gears to properly team up with Bucky for the last of the agents, incapacitating them in record time. Bucky kindly let Steve have the last one. He wrapped her up in a layer of snow and hit her with a confusing charm.

After sending a questioning look at Steve, Bucky got up and jogged over to their human snowman parked at the edge of the tree line. He lifted his leg, ignoring her slurred swears, and peed.

* * *

Steve and Bucky spent a tense afternoon waiting for the next part. They ate lunch quickly, scarfing down the protein bars that SHIELD had issued them. Steve took the chocolate ones while he tossed Bucky the peanut butter.

“I never would have thought that I’d get tired of downtime,” Steve complained as he sank back into the couch.

Bucky barked his agreement from where he was splayed on the floor, face tilted near the fire to catch every bit of warmth.

“It’s been hours. I think I’m going crazy, Buck.”

Bucky made a chuffing noise and inched closer to the fire.

“What the hell are they waiting for? It’s not like we’d be sitting on our asses in the field, waiting for the enemy to find us,” Steve grumbled. He ran a hand over his face and sat up to pull his pack closer to him. They had a little more than half their protein bars left, a change of clothes, toiletries, and a potions kit that contained the bare minimum required for healing elixirs. Bucky’s had the exact same contents, plus a massive tome of knock-knock jokes that Coulson probably snuck in there as a joke. That man had a weird sense of humor.

Steve practically itched with anticipation as Sunday morning and afternoon passed without incident. There was no way that SHIELD was letting them off the hook after just one morning of intense fighting. Their final placement exam couldn’t be over yet.

Sunday evening, and Steve finally got his wish. He jerked up from where he was lounging with Bucky, playing solitaire with a deck of cards he’d transformed from the book of knock-knock jokes. It wasn’t that difficult to turn the book into a deck, but it was tricky making sure he got all the numbers and suits right.

SHIELD’s first spell hit their wards with a rattle and a deafening boom that rocked the wooden rafters, dislodging dust and several spiders.

Outside, the visibility was beyond poor. Even with an illuminating charm to add to the dim electric porch light, they could only see about fifteen feet out. The snow muffled footsteps, and the dark trees loomed like a massive wall of black.

“Fuck,” Steve curse as the wards flickered, disappearing for a split second before he could get them back up.

Someone sent another hex their way, something nasty that made Steve’s skin crawl as it hit his shield.

“Buck, you gotta get them quick,” he shouted as the same hex hit again in the same spot as if the spellcaster sensed a weak point.

Bucky growled, lips pulled back over his lips in a snarl as his magic surged, drawing power from Steve. With unerring accuracy, Bucky sent curse after curse into the darkness.

Steve shouted in alarm as a spell that felt like a cannon ball hit his wards. Half of them broke on impact.

Heart pumping with fear and adrenaline, Steve raised his hands to renew the wards before anything could get through, but Bucky jumped up, lightly biting down on his arm. Steve stopped the spell, eyes wide.

Bucky let go and closed his eyes in concentration.

The wards were like a protective semi-transparent bubble, fortifying but not clarifying. With them down, Steve could finally pinpoint where their individual attackers were and their familiars. Bucky tugged insistently on his magic, sucking up Steve’s reserves like an empty void.

The ground rumbled, and some of the SHIELD agents yelped as their concentration broke in the middle of their spells. Shots went wide, and the few that made their mark bounced off Steve’s half-assed ward that only covered himself and Bucky, leaving the rest of the cabin and clearing wide open.

But then the snow level started rising, two feet high, four feet high, eight feet, and more. It kept going, past their eye level, a solid block of dull white. With a wave of his hand, Steve froze them in. The shield spells would hold much better when he could imbue them in a solid. Air-based shields took more concentration, but would do in a tight spot. Their wall of snow might has well have been a fortified wall of stone. With the below freezing temperatures outside, their wall of ice wasn’t going anywhere.

Bucky sagged against Steve’s side, tail hanging limply between his legs and ears drooping.

 “Good job,” Steve said as he sat at the edge of the bed, watching as Bucky restlessly circled the cabin, inspecting the snowed-over windows and sniffing under the door.

Bucky woofed what might be agreement and hopped up on the bed next to Steve and lay his head in his lap. Steve ran his hands though the soft fur lining Bucky’s forehead and the space between his ears, and Bucky went boneless.

“You were amazing out there,” Steve said quietly. “I mean it.”

Bucky opened his mouth, and closed it with a frustrated shake of his head.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to say anything,” Steve continued. “You can tell me all about it tomorrow morning.”

Bucky let out a heavy sigh.

“I didn’t know familiars could do that,” Steve said quietly, hand now moving in a steady rhythm down Bucky’s back as he took quiet stock of his best friend’s exhaustion. “You never see that, you know? It’s always the witch that takes from the familiar, taking more and more magic over and over again, and getting all the credit.” He chuckled quietly to himself. “But not you. Don’t you ever let me hold you back like that, you hear? I know you’ve been getting all sorts of shit from your parents because you are the way you are, but I think you’re the best of us, Buck.”

Bucky pushed himself up into a sitting position so that he was just about eye level with Steve. He licked Steve’s face, a long swipe from chin to forehead, and Steve shoved him off, laughing as his heart thundered in his chest.

* * *

Steve woke up at six am on Monday morning to the sound of tentative knocking on the door. At first, he thought they were part of his dream, but a few seconds later the knocking started again, a quiet rap of knuckles against wood.

Bucky was still sleeping, so Steve got up first and hopped over the freezing floor to the door. A quick glance outside showed him that his ice wall had been taken down over night, probably the work of some SHIELD agents getting a head start on their extraction in a little under two hours.

A woman stood in the doorway, so bundled up in jackets and scarves that for a second all he could see was the top of her flame colored hair before she pushed back her fur-lined hood. He rubbed at the sleep still lingering in the corners of his eyes, yawning deeply. She was probably a familiar. Steve’s magic sensing would probably never be his strong point. Shadows of their wards from the night before were still up, preventing malicious spells and those with ill-intent from entering the premises.

“Hi,” she said after she pulled one of her scarves down to free her mouth to talk.

“Hi,” Steve returned after a beat. “Can I help you?”

“I was wondering if I could borrow your phone?” she asked, nervously peering over his shoulder into the cabin. “My phone’s dead, my car’s dead, and it’s below freezing. I’m kind of freaking out.”

Steve clamped down on the instinct to open his home to someone in trouble. “Long way from civilization,” Steve bluffed as he crossed his arms across his chest, his body filling the doorway so she couldn’t see inside. He had no idea where they were.

“That’s why I need the car assist,” she said with little grin. “I think I passed the last gas station a dozen miles back.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” Steve said apologetically. “We’re kind of stranded up here too.”

Her eyes went wide. “You’re what now?”

Steve shrugged. “Our ride home is in a couple of hours, and we don’t have a phone,” _that we can use_ , he finished in his head.

“No phone?”

“Totally cut off.”

“You don’t look like a hippie hermit,” she said, suspiciously. “Are you an axe murderer?” She giggled like it was a joke, but it sounded a touch desperate to Steve’s ears.

“No.”

“Isn’t that what an axe murder would say?” she asked, her smile faltering.

Steve smiled reassuringly despite himself, and reached out a hand. “I’m Steve.”

“Steve the axe murderer?”

“Just Steve,” he corrected.

“I’m Natalie,” she said as she shook his hand. Her touch was feather light in his, and she let go rather quickly. She bit her lip. “I guess I’ll try the next house?” she said, glancing left and right a little dubiously at the thick forest surrounding them.

“Nobody is expecting you… wherever you are going?” Steve asked.

Natalie shrugged. “Not for a couple of hours,” she said, smiling ruefully. “I had a fight with my husband, so I just kind of got in my car without thinking, you know? That way he couldn’t follow me. I mean, he would probably go to Clint’s first thing, but then I remembered that Clint was visiting his sister, and she’s always liked me-” She broke off, biting her lip. “Sorry, you don’t need to hear my life story. I’ve been alone in the car for far too long.” She let out a little embarrassed chuckle, rocking back on her heels.

“No, it’s fine,” Steve said reassuringly.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said politely, but more stiffly than before. She turned to go.

Steve couldn’t help himself from saying, “Maybe I could help.”

Natalie blinked at him. “You can?”

He sighed. “Do you know what’s wrong with your car?”

She let out a relieved exhale, her face breaking out into a weary smile. “The battery’s dead.”

Steve nodded to himself. “I think I can give you a jump start.” He pulled on his coat and boots, which were luckily already by the door. He glanced back, at Bucky. He could guard the cabin while Steve stepped out.

“Without a car?” she asked dubiously.

“Magic,” he said distractedly as he cast a look at Bucky, who was still snoozing on the bed, paws twitching in his sleep. If anything came for them, he’d wake up. Steve trusted him to guard the safe house until he got back.

Natalie’s eyes widened. “Oh, right. Magic.”

Steve looked at her curiously as he closed the door behind him they left the porch. “Don’t you-” he broke off, going a little red. “Sorry.”

“Don’t I use magic?” Natalie finished for him, her voice wry. “I’m an unbonded familiar. My magic’s never been particularly useful, and I don’t want to accidentally blow up my car or something. Then I’d be really screwed.”

Steve shoved his hands in his pockets as she led them down the narrow trail down a small hill to the road. He could see evidence of his fight with SHIELD agents, snapped branches and disturbed snow all around the cabin. Luckily it was early enough, the sun barely rising, that the aftermath wasn’t particularly obvious to anyone not looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Parked a little on the road was a little grey sedan.

Natalie gestured to it with a curl of her lip. “There’s my hunk of junk.”

Steve placed his hands on the hood, shuddering at the freezing bite of the metal. He reached out with his magic, pulling together a basic repairing charm. “Try it now,” he urged.

Natalie pulled open the door and slipped inside the car. She gave a joyful whoop when the engine turned over. Leaned out the still-open car door, she smiled up at Steve. “I can’t thank you enough!”

“Just get to, uh, Clint’s safely,” Steve said with a little wave as he stepped off to the side.

Natalie tossed him a jaunty salute as she drove past.

Steve jogged back to the safe house, more than a little thankful for the excuse to stretch his legs after being cooped up in the cabin for two days.

He opened the door, saying loudly, “Buck, you lazy jerk, time to…” He broke off eyes widening as he took in the empty bed, empty sofa, empty cabin.

Steve didn’t think. He slammed a brick wall of a barrier spell down on the highway, powerful and visible enough that Natalie could slow down and not crash headlong into it. He needed her conscious.

Panic welled up in his throat. He choked on air as he frantically searched the cabin again.

Bucky was gone.

With a furious exhale, concentrated on his spell, shrinking the outer ward down to a narrow path from the highway to the porch of the cabin, boxing her in. He piled protection spell on protection spell on the cabin itself, all the old shield charms he and Bucky had set up earlier, plus more designed to dampen magic. It kept him busy until he heard Natalie’s hesitant footfalls on the porch steps.

He threw open the door, expression murderous. He almost balked as he took in her true power, stripped of her masking spells. She wasn’t an unbonded familiar, not even close.

“Where is he?” Steve demanded.

She took a step backwards, eyes widening in fear as she came up against Steve’s impenetrable wards. “What? Who?”

“Bucky,” Steve thundered. “Why did you take him?”

“I didn’t take anyone!” she squeaked, hands scrabbling behind her to clutch at the porch railing for support as Steve advanced.

“Where-”

Ice grew around her boots, locking her place.

“Is-”

Her wrists froze over next, binding her to the wooden railing.

“He.”

Frost snuck further up her arms, legs, thickening until she was locked in up to her elbows and knees. Immobilized, she whipped her head around, searching the deserted area for any help. “I don’t know!” she whimpered.

“My familiar,” Steve said, half a foot away, tense with adrenaline and fear.

“I don’t know!” she repeated, breath hitching as she bowed her head. “I don’t know your familiar!”

Steve jerked her head up by the chin so he could stare into her green eyes. “Don’t lie to me. I know what you are, and I want to know why you took him.”

“But I didn’t! You saw me – I just came for help with my car, that’s all!” Tears fell down her face in earnest now. “I don’t understand –”

Steve hesitated as she continued to babble. “No, you took him,” he said, but he sounded less sure to his own ears. “It had to be you.”

She sniffled. “But you were with me! I didn’t do anything. Please, just let me go.”

Steve shook his head as he breathed in deeply, trying to calm himself down enough to think for a damn second. Everything about her didn’t make sense. He’d put up wards to prevent lying within their borders, so she must be telling part of the truth, or what she believed to be the truth. But she’d also said she was an unbonded familiar, while Steve’s magic sense was going haywire trying to get a read on her. Normal unbonded familiars or witches just didn’t have her level of magic.

“Just tell me where he is, and I’ll let you go.” Steve crossed his arms across his chest. “I don’t know what SHIELD is up to, but this is going too far. Bucky and I are a team.”

Natalie blinked confusedly up at him. “SHIELD?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Steve said, his frown deepening. “I know you’re not an unbonded familiar. I know you could get out of those restraints in about five minutes if you put your mind to it and dropped the performance. I don’t know what kind of test this is, but it ends right now.”

She studied him for a moment, the tears stopping as her expression turned thoughtful. “They did tell me you were the best,” she said. A small wrinkle formed between her brows, and Steve felt his spell on the ice keeping her held down begin to disintegrate, slowly but surely.

Steve grimaced. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, where the hell is Bucky? Where did your familiar take him?”

She snorted, tilting her chin up and breathing deeply in and out for a second to calm herself. “A plus and extra credit for you, Rogers. You even figured out who did it.”

“Where is he?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Steve’s hands twitched with the urge to curse her to hell and back. “Give it up. I told you, I know you took him.”

“Well, there’s the catch,“ she said, shoulders rising in an impudent shrug. “Because of your damn wards, I couldn’t know his location. It was easier to keep me in the dark than take down your Fort Knox level protection here. There was a reason we had to send a whole team after you the past two times.”

“Great.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, staring out past her to stare at the surrounding woods. Bucky could be out there, or a hundred miles away.

As he was thinking of where to go from here, she finally undid Steve’s icy manacles binding her to the railing. Rubbing her wrists, she glanced up at Steve. “He’s close by,” she said quietly. “Clint only took him a mile or two out at most. You can go get him if you want.”

Steve stared at her. “Why are you telling me this?” he said suspiciously. “Is this part of the test?”

She threw him a disbelieving look. “C’mon Rogers. They told me you aced your tactical exams. You know enough about SHIELD. What do you think?”

Steve didn’t say anything for a moment as he reached out to get a sense of Bucky out there, somewhere. But he could only sense her. “I can’t sense him,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“Looks like your wards are too good, shield boy,” she said with a toss of her head. “Going to have to let some of them go to find your familiar.”

His spells unraveled without a second thought.

She blinked at him. “That was fast,” she muttered under her breath.

Steve pushed his sense farther, nearly panting with the effort to bring another inch of the surrounding wood within his reach. When Bucky’s magic flared, bright and strong, Steve nearly cried with relief. He wasn’t exactly close-by, maybe twenty minutes away if he walked briskly by his estimates. 

“I’m going after him,” Steve said firmly as he neatly sidestepped her to leave the cabin porch. “You can tell Fury that we’ve failed. The safe house is compromised.”

“Fine, leave me to my own devices,” she called after him as he jogged away. “I wasn’t kidding about the car. It’s a piece of crap. But I had to be _authentic_ – don’t take my Ferrari, Natasha, don’t drive my Lamborghini, don’t steal the Porsche blah, blah, blah.” She paused for effect. “Like Tony would ever find out if I did something to his precious babies.”

* * *

He was sweating lightly within minutes under his many layers. Twigs hidden under the snow snapped under his boots as he thundered by, dodging low-hanging branches and hopping over fallen trunks. The cold wind blew color into his cheeks, puffing white breaths into the freezing air. The air smelled oppressively of pine, and he felt like the worst kind of intruder as the quiet of the winter forest pressed against his ears.

He found Bucky with very little fanfare at an empty campsite about a mile away, Natasha’s accomplice nowhere in sight. Normally, Steve would have searched for him to better position himself to ward off attacks before bursting in on the scene, but he was too relieved to see Bucky unharmed and sleeping in the middle of the dead fire pit. Someone, probably Clint, had already cleared it of snow. The faint traces of a warming charm were only just beginning to wear off. A sleeping curse was still in full effect.

Steve swore; he didn’t have any awakening potions with him and he’d left the kit back at the cabin.

Steve cast a weightless charm and picked Bucky up to carry him back, suppressing a pang of worry as Bucky’s head lolled over his elbow and tail hung limply off Steve’s other arm. He hitched Bucky higher in his arms, tightening his grip securely around him. He bent his head down and inhaled Bucky’s reassuring scent that had comforted him for years as he steeled himself for the trip back.

They had a half hour until their pickup spell back to SHIELD and New York.

Steve concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, pacing his breathing, and keeping Bucky level. He pushed away thoughts of how to explain his failure to Bucky, to his ma, hell, to Coulson. He’d deal with that later.

Back at the cabin, Steve didn’t bother putting up wards. He went straight to where the contents of their backpacks were strewn across the table and made quick work of assembling the awakening solution. He was an expert; he had made it all the time when he and Bucky had 6:30am start times for SHIELD physical training. Steve had no problem with the schedule, but nothing short of a magically amplified megaphone could get Bucky up and awake enough to put one foot in front of the other. It took a week for Steve to resort to dosing Bucky’s morning cup of instant coffee with the stuff.

Bucky woke up in familiar form just like he did as a human; slow blinking at first, then pained grumbles, and finally standing up with wobbly limbs.

“Hey, Buck. How’re you feeling?” Steve asked as he soothingly ran his hand down the soft fur along Bucky’s neck. “You’re back at the safe house. You’re okay.”

Bucky sniffed the air once, still looking a little out of sorts. He whined, tail tucking between his legs as his head lowered to stare at Steve’s knees.

“SHIELD’s going to take us back in ten minutes,” Steve told him. “Don’t worry.”

Bucky shook his head. He glanced around, eyes drifting towards the cabin door, towards the bed, and back at Steve’s boots. He wouldn’t look up.

“Buck? Are you okay?” Steve asked, crouching down to get on his level. Unfortunately, Steve’s muscled limbs didn’t fold up like they used to, and Bucky’s gaze was still out of reach by several inches. “You got to give me something to work with here,” he said a little helplessly. “Are you hurt? You can tell me, you know. We – we failed the exam, so you don’t have to stay in your familiar form.”

Bucky let out an involuntary whine, ears pulled back to lay flat on his head. He shuffled a little on all fours, back, away from Steve.

Steve closed his eyes briefly, hand lifting from where it had been resting Bucky’s back as he stood to his full height. “That’s fine, if you don’t want to talk,” he said softly. “As long as you’re alright. I’ll be outside.” He grabbed his coat from where he’d tossed it on the floor to tend to Bucky, and shut the door quietly behind him.

Steve didn’t blame Bucky for not wanting to be around him. If he’d kept his cool, maybe he could have convinced Natasha to get Bucky for him. If his wards were stronger, maybe Clint wouldn’t have been able to get through at all.

His failure hadn’t had the chance to set in yet, but as Steve sat on the porch, staring out into the forested horizon, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts spiral down. He would have to tell his ma, not that he’d dream of ever hiding something like this from her, and, humiliatingly, ask to live at home until he got his life sorted out. He’d have to get a real job, apply for something more than that internship he’d found to cover his expenses after he’d turned eighteen and before he’d been approved by Erskine.

The countdown to the teleportation spell ticked on.

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin as the cabin door opened behind him. Heavy footfalls drew closer, and too soon Bucky was lowering himself to sit on the stairs next to Steve. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw that Bucky was wearing the clothes they had arrived in. He resisted the urge to twist in place to stare and kept facing forward instead.

Steve saw the sun rise quite often with his morning workouts, but it always invoked an awe in him that repetition couldn’t dampen. Seeing Bucky was like that too.

“It’s almost time,” Bucky said gruffly. He didn’t move though.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed for lack of anything better to say. His insides were still all twisted up with fear and nerves. He kept trying to come up with the right words, the right apology, to explain why he’d let them fail SHIELD’s final test, but all he could come up with was, _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry_ , which wasn’t nearly enough.

“Better get in position,” Bucky said as he hauled himself to his feet.

Steve nodded brusquely, striding forward with confidence he didn’t possess to where they’d appeared in front of the cabin not three days ago. Bucky stood next to him, arms crossed across his chest as he exhaled plumes of white breaths into the air. He shivered, looking anywhere but at Steve.

Alarmed, Steve took a step closer, hands coming up automatically to rest on Bucky’s biceps. He rubbed vigorously up and down twice before Bucky caught on to what he was doing. “Hey – what?” he asked, eyes widening as his expression turned baffled. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Warming you up,” Steve said in a detached voice as he kept up the friction. “You’re cold.”

“I know that,” Bucky said slowly. “It’s fine. The spell is going to kick in any second now.” He took a step back, still within reach, but his intent came across loud and clear.

Chastened, Steve dropped his arms and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat.

Heavy, stifling silence settled over them like an itchy blanket. Steve, hardly ever at ease in his own skin these days, shifted a little from foot to foot. He bit back the babble of words that threatened to bubble over, ridiculous apologies and promises to do better next time even though there wouldn’t be a next time because SHIELD didn’t do second chances.

The tingle of foreign magic tugged at their Bond, and the snowy cabin dissolved in a whirl to be replaced by the slate grey walls of SHIELD’s conference room.

The warmth hit Steve first, and he shucked off his coat before he could overheat. The half dozen pairs of familiars and witches had appeared at the same time as they did. Wanda and Pietro were whispering to each other, huddled close. Rogue was fiddling with her hair as Logan looked unflappable as ever, sprawled in one of the conference chairs. Scott and Jean were arguing in hushed voices in the back. Peter looked ready to pass out in the chair farthest from Logan, Gamora standing guard above him with both hands on the back of his chair. Mantis and Drax appeared shortly after Steve and Bucky, Mantis looking like her usual cheery self. Drax was glaring at her.

Coulson cleared his throat, frowning when only a couple people looked up. With an irritated huff, he cast a silencing charm. “That’s better,” he said mildly in the ensuing quiet. “Now that everyone’s back, it’s time to debrief. Your debriefing time slots are here,” Coulson said as he pulled a piece of paper from nowhere and set it down on the bit of conference table closest to him. He glanced around the room, eyes lingering on Steve’s rigid stance and the Jean’s piercing glare. “And will start tomorrow at nine in this room, so you have time to prepare. Dismissed.”

Bucky made his way over to the table and turned back to Steve. “We’re at noon.”

Steve barely finished saying, “got it,” before then Bucky booked it out of the room like it was on fire.

Face red, Steve avoided eye contact with anyone as he left shortly after Bucky.

In a little under 24 hours, it would all be over. They’d go through their debriefing, SHIELD would send them on their not-so merry way after a quick non-disclosure agreement, and they’d have to pack up and leave. At least Sarah never cleared out Steve’s old bedroom.

He hesitated in front of the elevator.

What if Bucky had gone straight to their room to avoid him? Bucky was allowed his own space to be pissed, and hopefully cool off, however unlikely that scenario was given that Bucky’s grudges ran cold to Steve’s hot temper. The chances that Bucky would forgive him any time soon were slim to none. He would get over Steve’s mistakes eventually, but it would take time and effort.

Steve sighed as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched in the familiar numbers before he could think too hard about it.

“Sarah speaking,” his mother’s familiar voice greeted.

“Hey Ma,” Steve said, some of his tension already draining from him. “I’m not interrupting anything, I hope?”

“I’ve been off shift for hours,” Sarah said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “And to what do I owe a call from my favorite son?”

Steve snorted. “Nothing. I can’t just feel like a call?”

“Sure you can,” Sarah said, and Steve heard rustling on the other end, the sound of plates and cutlery clattering around in the background. “But you typically only call to ask to come over for dinner.” There was a slight pause. “You can’t have run out of leftover lasagna already. That dish I sent you and Bucky home with last week must’ve weighted ten pounds.”

“And we ate it all the next day,” Steve said jokingly as he pressed the button for the elevator.

“You did not,” Sarah said sharply. “I know you’re a growing boy despite all odds, but all that dairy is not good for your stomach at once-”

“Relax,” Steve cut in. “Half of it is sitting in our refrigerator. I’m not going to collapse from lactose intolerance any time soon. I think that’s gone now, anyway.”

Sarah sighed into the phone. “You wouldn’t die, but call me if you suffer prolonged diarrhea or intestinal discomfort, please?”

Steve groaned and pressed the elevator button again. “Ma, cut it out with the diarrhea talk. I didn’t eat it yet. Don’t worry.”

“If it’s not the lasagna today, it’ll be a whole pizza tomorrow. You don’t know your body yet, Steve, or your limits. Be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” Steve retorted. “And it’s been a year.”

Sarah let out a shout of laughter. “You haven’t been careful a damn day of your life, and you know it. It’s truly admirable how careful you are with others, but you have to look out for yourself too.”

The elevator arrived, and Steve stepped in.

“It’s not always an either or situation. You need to practice self-care, Steve, and then you’ll better take care of others. Believe me, because nurses are the worst at practicing self-care in the entire health care industry,” Sarah said. “You can’t keep running yourself into the ground. I hate to pull the single-mother, only-son card, but I hardly see you, Steve. And I would understand if you’re busy making friends and finding a girlfriend, but from what Bucky tells me, all you’re doing is exercising and studying. Just because you can do a lot more now than you could before, that doesn’t mean that you should.”

Sarah’s impromptu speech lasted the whole elevator ride up to Steve’s floor. With a furtive look around, Steve made his way to the kitchen. It was the late afternoon, too early for dinner and too late for lunch. With any luck, it would be deserted.

“Funny you should mention it,” Steve said, unable to help the way his voice pitched high with discomfort. “I’ll probably be spending a lot more time, uh, not doing things.”

Steve let out a quiet sigh of relief when he found that nobody was in the kitchen.

“Oh really?” Sarah asked, disbelief dripping off every syllable. “What happened?”

Steve sighed, eyeing the dirty leftover dishes with a curl of his lip. Some moron had left what looked like the entire kitchen dirty from a pot of some sort of stew. He picked up the sponge and got to work.

“Steve?”

“We – I failed.”

There was a pause. “Failed what?”

“Our final exam,” Steve said as he began furiously scrubbing at something that had melted on the counter. “It ended this morning. And I fucked up.”

“Did Bucky tell you this?”

“Tell me what?”

“That it was your fault,” Sarah explained.

“Didn’t have to,” Steve grunted. “He wasn’t there and I made the wrong call.” He spent the next bout of silence rolling up his sleeves. His breath caught in his throat as his Bonding scar became visible. He rubbed it once before putting it out of his head.

“Where was he?”

“Away,” Steve said as he began filling a large dirty pot with water. “They took him, and I thought I had to choose between him and the mission.”

“So you chose the mission?” she asked, her disappointment palpable.

Steve shook his head even though Sarah couldn’t hear him. “No, I went for Bucky.”

“Good,” Sarah said, her voice surprisingly firm. “Then I don’t think you made the wrong call at all.”

“But I failed the exam,” Steve said, screwing up his face in concentration as he dug into a bit of dry rice that had a stranglehold on the entire bottom half of the pot.

“If that’s failure then so be it,” Sarah said. “I always thought this SHIELD thing was moving awfully quickly. I had my doubts, but you seemed to be enjoying it so I let it lie. I’ll tell you this, though, if they expect you to ever choose family over the job, then SHIELD definitely isn’t the right place for you.”

“If you say so,” Steve said doubtfully.

“I know so,” Sarah said waspishly. “And I, if not SHIELD, am proud of you for your decision.”

“Thanks, Ma.”

“Don’t thank me. I should’ve said something sooner,” she sighed. “What do you want to do next?”

“I’ll have to talk to Bucky,” Steve said, stomach already dropping to his feet at the thought.

“You haven’t spoken to him yet?”

“He’s… kind of mad at me.”

“For god’s sake, why?”

“Because I messed up?”

Sarah sighed. “You can’t honestly tell me that Bucky would have made a different decision if was he in your shoes. He can’t blame you for that. Have you tried talking to him?”

“He’s been avoiding me.”

He could practically hear his mother rolling her eyes. “Go find him. Make him talk. God knows that boy can never keep his mouth shut around you for long.”

Steve nodded to himself. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him.”

“Sounds like a plan. Don’t be a stranger, okay Steve? Let me know what you and Bucky decide to do, and we’ll go from there. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Steve said before he hung up. He stared at the pot in disgust, threw down the sponge, and cast a cleaning charm. Sometimes working with his hands calmed him down, but scrubbing evidently couldn’t cut through his anger and disappointment at himself. He stayed a moment longer to made sure the spell left the pot spotless, and turned back to his room with Bucky.

Steve hesitated outside his door, hand raised as if to knock before he thought better of it. He didn’t need to knock for permission to enter a room that was rightfully half his. Bucky had had about twenty minutes to himself, and hopefully he would be magnanimous to let Steve get his exercise clothes and get out, a quick extraction. There was a punching bag in the back of the gym that had his name on it.

Steve inhaled a steadying breath and pushed open the door. Bucky was sitting up on his bed, legs splayed in front of him as he scrolled through something on his phone. He had his socks off, and his bare feet looked oddly vulnerable. He looked up as Steve closed the door behind him, a barely there flick of his eyes.

“Hey,” Steve said, testing the fragile tension in the room.

“Hi,” Bucky said quietly.

Steve strode across the room and rooted through his dresser for a pair of shorts, a shirt, and clean socks.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said as Steve’s back was turned. He said the words so quietly that Steve wouldn’t have heard him if he himself wasn’t trying to be as unobtrusive and inoffensive as possible.

Steve straightened to stare at him, mouth opening before he could formulate a real response. He shut it again, brain struggling to catch up as Bucky threw him for a loop with two words. “Sorry?” he repeated, grimacing as he tried to make sense of it.

Bucky hunched in on himself, lowering his phone screen as he fiddled with a corner of his blankets on his unmade bed. “Yeah, I don’t expect it to mean much, but I’m sorry, okay?”

“I – what – you’re sorry?” Steve stumbled. “For what?”

“Fuck,” Bucky swore on an angry exhale. He crossed his arms across his chest, frowning at Steve who still frozen by his dresser. “You’re really going to make me spell it out? I’m sorry for fucking up, okay?” His voice hitched in the middle of his second sentence, and he reddened, gaze falling to study the edge of his blanket.

Steve turned around to face him fully. “You didn’t fuck up,” he said slowly. “What the hell are you talking about? Everything went FUBAR because I made the wrong call.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Which you only had to make because I got fucking kidnapped, right?”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t have been kidnapped if my wards were more secure,” Steve pointed out. “Your wards held; mine did not.”

“What?”

Steve sighed and dropped his clothes on his bed before leaning against it. “The witch who told me where you were? She couldn’t lie, couldn’t lift a finger against me. Those were your wards, Buck – mental magic. Not mine.” He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug.

“If I’d been a lighter sleeper-” Bucky began.

“You were drugged,” Steve interrupted flatly. “They put you under a sleeping curse to get you out of there under my nose. Believe me, I’m the one who owes you a million apologies. You did nothing wrong.”

But Bucky was already shaking his head before Steve had finished talking. “I should’ve been there for you.”

“I could say the same,” Steve said, cracking a smile.

Bucky offered a tentative smile in return, and warmth bloomed in Steve’s chest at the sight.

* * *

When they entered their briefing the next afternoon, Steve stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Natasha sitting next to Coulson. Only Bucky’s quizzical glance behind him got Steve to woodenly move his feet and take a seat.

“Hello boys,” she said.

Bucky glanced sideways at Steve whose expression had turned stony. “Who’re you?” Bucky asked, taking the hint.

“Natasha Romanoff,” she said, extending her hand forward. Bucky took it reluctantly. “I’ve already met Steve.”

“You did?” Bucky’s eyes widened as he kicked Steve under the table.

Steve’s shin ached. He grumbled, “She distracted me while her familiar went in and nabbed you.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, face settling into a carefully neutral expression that showed as much emotion as Steve’s.

“Now that we’ve got introductions out of the way,” Coulson said pointedly. “We need to discuss your final exam.” He pulled out a tablet and began pulling up files. “You successfully held out against SHIELD’s attacks for a cumulative six and a half hours, using more than fifty-seven individual spells. Good work.”

“Sir?” Steve blinked at him.

Coulson glanced down. “However, you took your time bringing the offensive to SHIELD with no discernable plan other than to take us down as quickly as possible. Care to explain your reasoning?”

Bucky shared a bemused look with Steve before venturing, “We didn’t know what we were up against. We took our time to figure that out because Fury sent us in goddamn _blind.”_

“We do factor that in,” Coulson said dryly. “So the stalling was purely to gather intel?”

“Yes sir,” Steve said firmly.

“And how did you work as a pair?” Coulson asked.

Natasha sat up straighter in her chair, green eyes flickering from Bucky to Steve lightning fast.

“I believe we worked well,” Steve said slowly. “Bucky was always on the offensive not to let the enemy gain any ground. I took over defensive spellwork until our base was secure, and then we both went on the offensive.”

“And what defensive spellwork that was,” Natasha murmured.

Coulson nodded in agreement. “SHIELD took several hours to dismantle your last shield spell.”

“Sorry?”

Bucky kicked Steve under the table, shaking his head minutely. “Steve’s shields are the strongest I’ve seen,” he said over him.

“Then we’ve come to the same conclusion,” Natasha said, tipping her head in agreement with Bucky.

“I – uh – thank you,” Steve said, reddening at the unexpected compliments.

“And with one of the highest scores in our physical tests and tactical written exams, we hope you’ll accept two open positions on the Avengers team.” He nodded at Natasha, who inclined her head. “We believe you two will be a good fit.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Bucky said, hands twitching in his lap. “The Avengers?”

“Well you both put them at your top choice,” Coulson said with a frown as he checked his tablet. “Would you prefer a different team? If that’s the case, then your continued employment at SHIELD would need to be reevaluated.”

“I thought we failed,” Steve blurted.

“Nope,” Natasha said, lips popping over the ‘p.’

“I have personally worked with the Avengers on several missions,” Coulson added. “And you were outstandingly quick to demonstrate that your core values aligned with those of the Avengers in particular during the last part of the exam.”

“Sir?” Steve asked, looking from Natasha to Coulson and back again.

“You chose Bucky over SHIELD,” Natasha clarified with a wink. “The Avengers like that.”

“And how do you figure?” Bucky cut in, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Because on the Avengers team, our first loyalty is to our familiars or witches, second to our teammates, and then to SHIELD,” Natasha said calmly.

“Our?” Steve echoed faintly.

“Oh yes,” Coulson said with a sly smile. “That’s why Natasha is here. She likes to oversee the examination and invitation of her future teammates in-person.”

Bucky let out a quiet groan. “The guy who took me was an Avenger?”

“Clint doesn’t usually do good first impressions,” Natasha said with a roll of her eyes.

Coulson cleared this throat pointedly. “So, will you both be accepting the Avengers’ offer?”

Steve looked at Bucky, who had a sort of dazed look about his face. “Yes,” he said, nudging Bucky with his elbow to chime in.

“Of course,” Bucky added after a moment. He shook his head as if to clear itself. “The Avengers? Really?”

“Really,” Coulson said with a smile. “We will be sending you your full-time employment contracts soon, so if you need anyone to look them over before you sign, please call them now. You will also be expected to move into the Avengers Tower within a week.”

“Tony Stark’s place?” Bucky asked eagerly.

“That ugly building in midtown?” Steve said with a frown.

Natasha laughed. “That’s the one.”

“It’s not ugly,” Bucky said, offended.

“It’s pretty soulless,” Steve said in an even voice.

“It’s not soulless – it’s modern! A representation of the innovation of SI. Not everything has to be from the nineteenth century, you snob.”

“Stark’s going to love you,” Natasha said with a frown. She sighed. “It’s going to be so much harder to take his ego down a peg with another Avenger in his camp. God.”

“I’m going to meet Tony Stark,” Bucky muttered to himself, going a bit pale.

“And you’re probably going to regret every minute of it,” Natasha said cheerfully. “He’s extra insufferable around fans.”

Steve turned to Coulson. “Can you tell us who else was accepted to the Avengers?”

Coulson paused. “So far the Avengers have only agreed on Wanda and Pietro Maximoff,” he said slowly. “But their integration to the team will be delayed a year because they need to undergo more training.”

“You can do that?” Bucky asked.

Natasha nodded. “We weren’t about to let them slip away to the X-Men if we could help it,” she said with a frown. “But they’re not quite ready to join the team yet.”

“So it’s just us,” Steve said, voice faint.

“SHIELD’s recruitment is a highly selective process,” Coulson said as he put his tablet down. “Well done.”


	3. Part III

The Avengers Tower was more like Stark Tower with several floors set aside for the Avengers’ living and use. Residential and common floors were at the top, including Tony’s penthouse, and the Avengers’ training and laboratories were in the basement. In the middle, Stark Industries employees scurried in and out of offices, and held meetings in conference rooms with floor to ceiling windows with a spectacular view of downtown Manhattan if they were high enough, or the opposite side of Seventh Avenue if they were not.

Steve and Bucky entered lobby wide-eyed and carrying their limited possessions in two suitcases and several duffel bags from SHIELD training’s center uptown. Steve had half expected Natasha to show them around, and was already scanning the crowd for her distinctive head of red hair before a man in jeans and a sweatshirt and purple tee-shirt came up and introduced himself as Clint.

Bucky bristled at the initial meeting, still sore that Clint had gotten the drop on him at SHIELD’s cabin two weeks ago. Closed off during Clint’s monologue in the elevator ride up to the top floors, he only warmed up to Clint until they reached the Avengers’ apartments and Clint apologetically stopped by his room first to get his dog.

“He’s been cooped up all morning with no pizza,” Clint said, grinning as a one-eyed golden retriever loped out of the apartment door, sniffed once in Clint’s direction, and promptly made a beeline for Bucky.

“You feed your dog pizza?” Bucky asked, sounding reproachful even as he grinned at Lucky and accepted too many licks to the face. He crouched down to the dog’s level to properly shower him with the right amount of affection.

Clint snorted. “I don’t need to feed him pizza. Lucky finds enough pizza on his own. He’s like those pigs, you know? The ones that hunt mushrooms.”

“But with pizza."

“It’s alright if I can get most of the cheese off it before he eats too much.” Clint scratched the back of his neck. “Gets a little gassy, but that’s about it.”

“Delightful,” Steve deadpanned.

Bucky was too busy baby-talking at the dog and petting his golden fur to add to the conversation.

Steve looked up at Clint. “Are there any dog parks in the area?”

“I think so? You’d have to ask the dog walker, Kate. She knows more than I do about the area.”

“Sure.” Steve nudged Bucky with his foot to get him to stand up. “Where to next?”

“C’mon Lucky.” Clint tugged at the leash, but Lucky wouldn’t budge. “Bucky’s coming with us too.” He turned to Steve and Bucky. “I’ll show you to your rooms, and then the rest of the place.”

Steve whistled as the door opened to reveal a spacious one-bedroom apartment. His living room opened onto floor to ceiling glass windows, and his kitchen appliances looked about twenty years newer than what he’d had at his ma’s apartment, shiny and stain-free. The walls were a comforting off-white color, and the furniture looked modern but comfortable. Steve parked his suitcase by his closet and dumped his duffel bags on his already-made bed.

“Damn, Pepper must like you,” Clint said as he leant against the door jam. He kept a white-knuckled grip on Lucky’s leash, as the dog seemed torn between sniffing the carpet and investigating the kitchen for any food. “You got a better setup than Nat and I did.”

“Pepper?” Steve asked, looking up from his perusal of the view.

“CEO of Stark Industries,” Clint explained. “Tony’s old PA. He still thinks she works for him, so he’ll dump anything that he’s not interested in on her, which is pretty much everything except for R&D.”

“He shouldn’t do that."

“That’s pretty much Tony’s life motto,” Clint said with a laugh.

“What the hell?” Bucky's outraged shout came from across the hall.

Bemused, Steve wandered into Bucky’s apartment, which had the same format and décor as his own. He found Bucky in the bedroom, standing by his bed, an expression of pure disbelief on his face. In the middle of the steel-grey duvet was a pile of several canisters of tennis balls, a foot of sturdy rope with knots at both ends, and a bag of something that was helpfully labelled Scooby Snacks in hastily-scrawled blue sharpie. Bucky was holding a stuffed squirrel. He squeezed it, and it squeaked.

Lucky barked.

“Oh my god,” Steve gaped.

Clint doubled over laughing.

Bucky glowered. “This is some sort of sick joke.”

“Sure is. Tony can be an asshole,” Clint agreed, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “When I moved in, he got Nat a falconry glove and leash, a pair of binoculars, and chicken feed,” he listed. “It’s his welcome home package, kind of. If you wanted someone to feel as least-welcome as possible. Nat was not amused.”

“At least he didn’t get you a leash?” Steve tried, stepping close to the pile to get a better look.

“Or a collar,” Clint added, still snickering.

Bucky picked up the rope, frowning at it. “Tony Stark did this?” He pointed it accusingly at Clint.

“It definitely wasn’t Pepper,” Clint said. “She’s got way more tact than that. And she’s nice. Scary, but nice.”

Lucky lunged for the rope, whining as Bucky let him have it in surprise.

Bucky turned to Clint, a pained look on his face. “Will you take this crap with you? Your dog seems pretty keen on it.”

Lucky, who had dropped the rope once Bucky made it clear he wasn’t going to engage in a game of tug of war, had started investigating the dropped squeaker toy. He woofed in delight, clamping his jaws around its middle and squeaking with wild abandon.

“Sure,” Clint said with a shrug. “Lucky could always use more stuff. You sure you don’t want to keep some of it?”

“Of course I’m sure I don’t-” Bucky began hotly, but Clint kept speaking over him.

“Because Tony doesn’t skimp on the cost,” he continued. “Nat kept the binoculars, they’re military grade with night vision and an insane zoom feature.”

Steve pursed his lips as he picked up a Frisbee. “We could use this. You know. As people.”

“Fine,” Bucky said shortly. “The rest of it has got to go.”

Clint grinned. “Lucky, drop it,” he said. Clint winced as Lucky refused and the squeaks increased in volume and frequency. He raised a hand to the side of his head and fiddled with a flesh colored hearing-aid.

“Here,” Steve said, holding out a stuffed pig to Bucky.

“What do you want me to do with it?” Bucky demanded, making a face of pure disgust. “I’m not-”

“Get Lucky to take it,” Steve said, shoving it impatiently into Bucky’s hands. “You’re the only one who can convince him to trade.”

Bucky sighed, crouching down to Lucky’s level. He slowly reached out, careful to keep his hand within Lucky’s eyesight and below his head. He tugged once on the squeaking toy, frowning as Lucky dipped his body into a play bow instead. “No,” Bucky said firmly. He held out his hand, palm up, below Lucky’s jaw, wiggling his fingers in the universal gimme gesture. Lucky dropped the toy, slightly damp with dog drool, and Bucky gave him a grateful pat on the head before offering his substitute.

“Alright, looks like we’re off!” Clint said exuberantly a moment later. “To the communal floor upstairs, guys. It’ll blow your minds.”

The communal floor stood between the rest of the Avengers’ apartments and Tony Stark’s penthouse. It housed both a giant kitchen, which looked well-used and well-stocked, and a huge living room with two large, comfortable couches and the biggest flat screen television that Steve had ever seen in his life.

Bucky frowned as he read off the accounts for the streaming users, mouthing, “Black Widow, Hawkeye, Hulk, Iron Man,” with raised eyebrows.

They all stepped back into the elevator, and Clint chatted with them about their SHIELD training on the way down. All of the Avengers had been given dossiers on their newest team members, but they were the bare bones, listing powers, strengths, and weaknesses. None of the good stuff, Clint had assured them as Lucky led the way to the lab.

They heard Tony Stark before they saw him.

“Hey U, don’t you dare move an inch. The freshmen at MIT already have a robotics station with your name on it – you’re on thin ice, buddy. Dum-E, where the hell are you? The one time when we might need – fuck! Who the hell taught you to sneak up on me?”

“Dum-E’s been there for ten minutes, Tony.”

“Shut up. No he hasn’t.”

Through the clear glass separating the lab from the hallway, Steve could see two men arguing over magical schematics that hung in the air in red and gold lights, sending off the occasional spark of energy. Steve recognized Tony Stark from the news articles Bucky had occasionally forwarded to him, as well as Bruce Banner, his older bull familiar that had shocked the gossip pages when he and Tony had Bonded shortly after Tony had taken over the company from his father at age twenty-five. Tony had effectively squashed rumors that Bruce was a gold digger when he gave the company to Pepper Potts a grand total of three years later, took up defense work with SHIELD, and made remarkable, if not tremendously profitable, green energy. He also started dating Pepper around that time, weathering the rumors that he was the real gold digger with good humor.

Bucky could explain with more details, but that was all Steve got from Bucky’s rambles during his Tony Stark phase that hit its peak somewhere at the beginning of high school.

“Hey,” Clint said sharply, rapping his knuckles sharply on sealed glass doors. “We got the newbies for you to meet.”

Bruce looked up first and gave them acknowledging nods and a smile. “Hello,” he said quietly. “I’m Bruce.”

“Hi,” Steve said. He jabbed Bucky sharply in the ribs when he didn’t respond, and Bucky mumbled out a passable, “Hey,” in return.

Tony finished messing with the glittery lettering in the lab, rearranging parts of equations with a frown, and tilted his head as he studied them. “So who’re you?” he asked.

“Steve,” he said, striding forward and holding out his hand.

“I’m Bucky.”

“Seriously?” Tony stared over Steve’s left shoulder, his smile turning giddy like his birthday had come early.

“Uh, it’s really James,” Bucky said, “But I go by Bucky.”

Tony clapped Bruce excitedly on the back, jerking his thumb at Bucky. “That’s even better than Scooby, or Lassie… or Marley. You get the picture.”

“Tony,” Bruce chided as he crossed his arms across his chest.

Lucky, sensing Bucky’s distress, nudged his hand with his nose and dropped his stuffed animal at Bucky’s feet. Bucky smiled wanly, but didn’t bend down to start playing, just pat Lucky reassuringly on the top of his head.

“That’s too cute,” Tony declared.

Bucky’s scowl deepened.

Steve crossed his arms across his chest. “We got your little welcoming present,” he said, and Tony’s eyes flicked to him briefly. “It was incredibly rude.”

Tony’s eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline.

“If that’s what I get for my generosity-”

“What generosity?” Steve began severely. “You kicked up a huge fuss when SHIELD put you on the Avengers, so all of us live here as part of your compromise with Fury. Clint said that Pepper put together our actual apartments, so you’re not getting any credit there. You didn’t even know our names, so you didn’t put in the effort to read up on us past seeing what jokes you could make about us.” He glanced back at Bucky who was looking like Steve had just brought down the moon. “And your monopoly on green energy borders on illegal, but nobody has said anything yet because you charge reasonable prices… so far.”

Tony looked like he’d swallowed a live toad.

Somebody whistled appreciatively behind them, and Steve craned his neck to see Natasha stride into the lab, her heeled boots clacking audibly against the cement floor. “I heard Tony Stark was getting taken down a notch so I thought I’d film it for posterity’s sake, but any lower and you’re hitting bedrock.”

Steve snorted. “I’m just telling it like it is.”

Bruce coughed. “You sure are,” he muttered.

Tony shot him a look of ultimate betrayal before throwing his hands up in the air, scattering the lit-up schematics. “I take back my approval. Send ‘em back to SHIELD.”

Natasha shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that. As I explained to you.”

Clint piped up, “Lucky likes them.”

“Thank you, Clint,” Natasha said dryly. “And I think their trial period should be longer than forty-five minutes.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder like she was in a shampoo commercial and turned on her heel. “I came down to tell you all that our training session is going to start in an hour. Start hydrating, boys.”

“Well then,” Tony said, clapping his hands. “Better get ready. Bruce?”

“I’ve got some things to take care of,” Bruce said, nodding to several potions steaming away behind them. “I’ll see you there.”

Tony made a face but didn’t comment further. He cast an appraising eye over Steve, whose stony glare bordered on hostile, and Bucky, who looked more dumbstruck than anything. “Jury’s still out on Turner and Hooch. See ya,” he said critically, exiting the lab before anyone else could get the last word.

Steve looked at Bucky to Clint and back again. Clint was patting Lucky absently, fingers tugging at a small knot in his neck ruff.

“I don’t know what just happened,” Bucky said faintly.

“You met Tony Stark,” Clint said helpfully. “I think it went fairly well, from what I saw.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve asked sourly.

“Well, nobody got slapped,” Clint observed mildly, grimacing as he tugged the knot free and a white-gold tuft of fur along with it. “Nat stabbed him with a syringe the first time we met him. Saved his life, but he took a while to get over it.”

* * *

Clint showed them the training gyms on their last stop on the tour. There were a huge series of interconnected rooms with mats lining the walls and parts of the floor, a track in the center, and an obstacle course at the far end. The air tasted a bit stale, but huge fans mounted on the ceiling lazily spun around to offer a slight breeze. “Weight machines and cardio equipment is the floor up, which we share with the SI people. Not many use the gym, though, which is nice.” Clint glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to take Lucky for a spin around the block. You guys okay to get to training on your own in forty-five?”

“Sure,” Bucky said, already patting Lucky goodbye.

Steve and Bucky made it back their apartment floor in silence. Bucky glanced his way a couple of times; Steve caught him in the reflection of the elevator doors, but each time he looked away before Steve could say anything.

It was only as Steve was sitting on the edge of his bed, duffel of workout clothes zipped open as his feet and tying up the laces on his sneakers, that Bucky brought up meeting the Avengers.

“I didn’t know you knew all that about Tony Stark,” Bucky said in a careful voice.

Steve looked up to see him in running shoes and a tee shirt, standing just inside his bedroom. He brushed away the hair that fell in his face and shrugged. “You talked a lot about him after the Expo, when he was just starting on the green energy thing.”

“That was more than five years ago,” he pointed out.

Bucky’s words took a moment of silence to sink in, and Steve’s heart thumped loudly in his chest with nerves as he grasped for something to say, something to justify holding onto Tony Stark facts that Bucky had shared when they were kids. “What do you want me to say? I listen when you talk,” Steve said honestly even as he rolled his eyes. He dipped down to double check his double-knots on his laces, hiding the flush of embarrassment that had begun to creep across his face. “I also read SHIELD’s file on him, which he clearly didn’t bother to do with us.”

When Steve straightened back up, hopefully with a less-red face, Bucky was looking at him strangely. “You did? What else did it say?”

“You didn’t read it either?” Steve groaned.

Bucky shifted his weight to his other foot. “I was busy?” he tried. When that didn’t fly, he threw up his hands and muttered, “I didn’t think I needed to, okay? I was obsessed with the guy for a while.”

“Still got a crush?” Steve asked lightly, only half-joking.

“Ain’t in middle school anymore,” Bucky said flatly. “That ship has long sailed, and even if it didn’t, today would’ve sunk it in the harbor.”

“Good,” Steve said as he shuffled past him to get to the kitchen and pour himself a glass of water. “You could do a hell of a lot better than a textbook narcissist.”

Bucky didn’t say anything as Steve turned the cold-water handle on the tap. Steve glanced behind him to see Bucky leaning against the kitchen island, elbows resting on the marble countertop. He was biting his lip, clearly lost in thought. “Textbook narcissist?” Bucky echoed eventually.

Steve turned around to face him. “He displays compulsive behavior and is prone to self-destructive tendencies too,” Steve added, listing SHIELD’s personality overview on his fingers.

“I could see that.”

Steve snorted as he set his glass down and began pouring another one for Bucky. “You think he’ll be a liability on the field?”

“I mean, probably?” Bucky said as he took Steve’s proffered glass. “Self-destructive tendencies are kind of an alarm bell.”

Steve shrugged. “They wrote that I was a liability since I went for big risks with big payoff instead of plans with little risk and smaller payoff.”

Bucky’s lip curled. “That’s true.”

Steve set his half-full glass down. “I wouldn’t write Tony off yet just… be careful.”

“Pretty sure I’m always careful, pal,” Bucky said as he threw Steve an exasperated look. “You’re the one that treats self-preservation as more of a recommendation than a requirement.”

“Yeah, but that’s why I got you watching my six,” Steve said cheerfully.

“Lucky me.” Bucky raised his glass in a mocking toast. “As long as they don’t take me out, you should be all set then.”

“I won’t let them,” Steve said before his brain caught up with his mouth.

One side of Bucky’s mouth quirked up into a half-smile. “Aw, Steve, that’s adorable.”

Steve flushed. “Course I watch out for you, Buck.” He picked up his water glass and drained it. “If you didn’t read up on Tony, did you read up on the others? Bruce? Clint?”

“Uh,” Bucky hedged. “Bruce always kept out of the public eye, even after he Bonded to Tony. There wasn’t a lot of intel in on him out there, but enough if you knew where to look. His familiar form is a bull, but he did some sort of shady genetics research spells that fucked him up a little. He was trying to determine if a familiar’s animal form came from genetics or environment – nature versus nurture. Like, are familiars more genetically predisposed to cats or owls, or is it because the classics and pop culture always show familiars as cats and owls so that’s what kids absorb?”

“What’d he find out?” Steve asked.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “His results were inconclusive. Normally, familiars only change animal forms after a great emotional upheaval, like death of their witch or severe trauma, usually together. I read about this familiar, a sea otter. She was sailing with her witch and had a horrible boating accident or something. When she got out of the hospital, her witch was dead and, bam, she was a kangaroo rat. They don’t have to ever touch water, seeds and shit are enough to survive in the desert. She couldn’t even look at a picture of open water without throwing up or involuntarily transforming.”

“That’s awful.”

“You’re telling me,” Bucky said darkly. “Anyway, Bruce allegedly tried to figure out how to change familiar form once an adult. You know, so those poor schmucks that are stuck as chinchilla or trout could picks something better, faster, or stronger without torturing themselves.”

“Did he change form?”

Bucky snorted. “Sure did. At the expense of his sanity.”

Steve blinked at him. “So… he’s insane?” he asked uncertainly.

“No,” Bucky said with a wry laugh. “But he’s not all there when he transforms. By all accounts he’s a brilliant scientist while in human form, but one he goes green – and that’s another side effect of his experiment, god knows why – we effectively have a raging bull on our team and not much else.”

“So he traded in strength for intelligence?” Steve concluded.

“I guess that’s one way to look at it,” Bucky said, eyes widening. “Magic’s sometimes like that, you know? That’s why there are so many fairy tales with ‘ _magic always comes with a price’_ as the main lesson. That, and never to trust wolves, cynophobic bastards. Foxes should be at the top of their shit list instead; they’re shifty as hell.”

“Hey,” Steve protested. “Peggy was extremely trustworthy.”

“Ah, I forgot you had a soft spot for foxes,” Bucky said quietly.

Steve leaned over the kitchen island and patted Bucky on the shoulder. “You do know you’re cousins, right? Canidae?”

“You know what they say; you can’t choose your family,” Bucky grumbled.

Steve laughed. “You’re probably both more similar than not, you know.”

“I suppose we both have brown hair,” Bucky said, lip curling.

Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re both loyal, smart, resourceful,” he listed, “and more complicated inside than what you show to the world.” He turned around, refilling his glass with his back to Bucky so he had an excuse not to see his reaction. “I always thought you’d be great friends, but it never worked out like that.”

Bucky was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

Steve waved Bucky’s apology away. “Water under the bridge, Buck. Not much we can do about it now. Anyway, did I tell you that Peggy congratulated us on joining the Avengers?”

Bucky blinked at him. “No.”

“Yeah, she called a couple of days ago, while we were working out the transition between SHIELD and the Avengers – must’ve slipped my mind.” Steve took another drink of water, frowning as Bucky’s expression darkened.

“Is she coming back to the US?”

Steve sighed. “Not permanently, but she may visit in a couple of months. But she said Jarvis was doing well, and wished us the best.”

“Jarvis?” Bucky questioned.

“Her witch,” Steve said slowly. He’d told Bucky about Jarvis before, could have sworn he did when Peggy first let him know that she had Bonded last year.

“Oh.” Bucky’s forehead furrowed as he grappled with whatever he wanted to say, mouth opening and closing one before he asked, “You’re not still hung up on her, are you?”

“Peggy?” Steve nearly choked on his water in surprise. “What makes you say that?” he asked he wiped his mouth on the back of his arm.

“You haven’t dated anyone,” Bucky said simply.

“I – ” Steve began, but cut himself off with a shake of his head. He could say that he was still in love with Peggy. It would get Bucky off his back, but Steve was a crappy liar and for all he knew it would backfire spectacularly and Bucky would try to foist him off on any unsuspecting lady within the tristate area. “That’s true,” he said, drawing the syllables out and fingers tapping against the side of his glass as he desperately searched for something else to talk about, anything else.

Bucky snorted. “Have you even been on a date since things ended with her?”

“Maybe?” Steve tried, but once glance at Bucky’s disbelieving stare, and he hung his head. “No.”

Bucky set his glass down with a loud clink. “So you need to get over Peggy. Christ, have you been holding out for her for three years?”

“No!”

“Is that so?” Bucky said with a raised eyebrow.

“No,” Steve repeated, meeting Bucky’s gaze squarely.

“Then why haven’t you made a move on anyone?” Bucky frowned, corners of his mouth pulling down sympathetically. “Or have you, and it hasn’t worked out?”

Steve inhaled sharply. “I – uh – I haven’t made a move. But I know they’re not interested, so that’s why I – uh – haven’t made a move.”

Bucky shook his head. “You sure?”

Steve snorted. “Quite.”

“Why not?”

Steve sighed. “I just know, okay? I’m not their type.”

“What the hell do you mean you’re not her type?” Bucky demanded. “Who doesn’t like a good-looking guy with a heart of gold?”

Steve gaped for a moment at him, mouth falling open in surprise as warmth bloomed in his chest. His heart felt four times its usual size, and he bit his lip to keep from smiling like a maniac.

Bucky got and elbowed him out of the way to get more water for himself. The side of his face that was still in Steve’s view was glowing red. “Come on,” Bucky said with an eye roll as Steve continued to just stand there, “You know you’re a catch. Anyone who wouldn’t give you a chance is clearly fucked up in the head.”

“They’re not,” Steve said quietly as Bucky crossed back around the island to take his seat back.

* * *

“What the fuck was that?” Bucky yelped as Clint’s spell came from out of nowhere, narrowly missing his left ear. The next beam of purple light got him straight in the neck.

“Barnes out!” Natasha crowed victoriously from across the gym.

Steve crouched behind a curve in the climbing wall, cursing as Bucky stomped over to where Bruce was already sitting out, watching the proceedings with an analytical eye. It was their first real practice with the team, and they’d only been officially on the Avengers roster for three days. Before, Bucky and Steve had been doing evaluation exercises as the rest of the team tried to figure out where they’d fit in and participating in one-on-one sparring. Now they were putting it all into action for the first time in an elaborate game of what basically amounted to magical laser tag.

Tony groaned from where he was floating high up, almost by the rafters. His control on his self-levitation spells was incredible, only second to his shield spells, which he had wrapped tight around himself like armor. Even Steve could admit they were just beyond his skill level, as much as it pained him. “Come on, Lassie, you’re killing me!”

“Fuck you, Tony!” Bucky called, middle-finger raised high in the air.

“Bucky, Bruce,” Natasha said loudly, “You know the rules. Out of the gym! If you get taken out, you’re out.”

Steve watched them go regretfully. A floor or two of distance shouldn’t cut off his magic, but it took some adjusting to get used to the strain on the Bond. He could still pull Bucky’s power to boost his magic, but he needed to reserve it for difficult, necessary spells instead of a constant stream of back and forth like he was used to when Bucky fought by his side. By Steve’s estimation, their first training session wasn’t going too badly, one hour in and their team was only two members down. At first he had rejected the lopsided teams of Tony, Bruce, Bucky, and Steve all versus Natasha and Clint, but Tony had reassured him with a scowl that the sides were more than fair since Natasha took no prisoners in the field and Clint was a sneaky bastard.

Steve peered out from behind his cover and signaled to Tony at Natasha, who was running several yards away. She leapt onto pommel horse, made a daring leap for the flying rings, and used her momentum to carry her to the second floor of the gym, which was mostly a narrow walkway designed for observation of the floor below.

“Goddamn,” Tony whistled as he touched down next to Steve. “You ever tried a lift spell with your hands tied like that?”

“Where’d she go?” Steve asked, glancing around all the shadowy corners of the gym.

“Probably to regroup with Clint,” Tony said.

“And where’s he?” Steve asked through gritted teeth.

Tony shrugged. “Lost him a minute ago. Last I saw him was near the shooting range.” He jerked this thumb behind him. “I figure we’ve got five seconds before they come back for us.”

“Five?” Steve yelped.

“They’re like mind-readers, I swear,” Tony said impatiently. “And you’re wasting time.”

“What’s the plan?”

“You don’t have a plan?”

“You’re an Avenger!”

“So are you!” Tony said, throwing up his hands in the air. “I thought you were supposed to be the tactician!”

“I mean – on _paper_ at SHIELD – I made plans, but I didn’t think I would be in a place to- _”_

Tony roughly shoved Steve out of his hiding place, cutting him off. Before Steve could yell at him, Natasha’s laser-thin red light hit the part of the rock wall that had just been protecting Steve’s left flank.

“Alright, times up!” Tony said loudly as he took off. “We’ll go with the no-plan plan. Good talk, Rogers!”

His hiding spot evidently compromised, Steve cast a shield spell to protect him as he ran to crouch behind a series of punching bags. In between their swinging weight, he could see Tony taking aim at a bird-like shadow in the rafters. He shot a wide beam of gold light, illuminating a dummy bird like farmers used to scare off predators. “You fucker!” Tony said laughing as the transformation spell wore off, and the bird reverted to plastic water bottle.

“He’s by the range,” Steve shouted. “Next to the third target from the left!” He couldn’t get a clear shot himself, but Tony should have no problem tagging Clint out.

“How the hell did you sense him? Natasha’s got him cloaked up to the gills!” Tony called as he sent a flurry of gold jets of light off where Steve told him.

Steve rolled his eyes. “I saw him! With my own two eyes!”

“You saw – ha take that!” Tony gave a mighty whoop as Clint stalked out of the gym, probably grumbling curses under his breath, not that Steve could hear from two hundred yards away.

“Where’s Natasha?”

The red light caught Tony square in the forehead.

“What the-?” Tony whirled around as he landed. “You got me?”

“Next don’t get distracted by Clint – you weakened your shields,” Natasha said smugly as she appeared on the second-floor balcony by the flying rings. “You have to multitask better. You know the rules, time to hit the showers, Stark.”

“This is not over!” Tony said, holding up a finger threateningly.

Steve sent up his blue light streaking towards her, but it bounced harmlessly off her shield.

“Sure it isn’t,” she said to Tony. She glanced down at Steve, mouth pulling down into a mocking frown. “Better luck next time, Rogers.”

Her image blurred with the same cloaking spell she and Clint had been using for most the training session, leaving her barely visible to the naked eye and completely invisible to his magic sense. Still behind his punching bags, Steve backed up to the wall and tried to think of a plan. If he could get her one-on-one, he could probably overpower her, but she was slippery and patient.

With one eye in the air to watch if she planned on swooping in from above – not her style, but Steve had a hunch that he couldn’t be too careful when it came to Natasha Romanoff – he began laying out his shield spells. He started ten feet in front of his enclosed space by the punching bags. Methodically, if not artfully, he sectioned off more and more parts of the gym, effectively eliminating more hiding places.

As soon as the next shield was up, Steve dropped the previous one, moving forward once the area was clear.

She was retaliating near the middle of the gym by the water fountains, looking for cracks in his spellwork. But he’d learned a thing or too since the cabin in the woods, and his shields were more impenetrable than ever.

And then they were face to face.

“Seems we’re at a stalemate,” Natasha said, voice slightly muffled by the clear barrier between them. “What did you add to these? They’re more durable than your last ones.”

“A binding spell,” Steve said, eyeing her hands warily as he looked for the first sign of her next attack. “Makes all the shielding spells more rigid, but stronger.”

Natasha hummed quietly to herself, fingers twitching at her sides, and even though the barrier, Steve could feel her power gathering. He was losing time.

He dropped the shields in record time. He fired his blue light.

It hit her square in the midsection, just before a huge invisible force slammed into Steve, tossing him clear across the gym. Luckily he landed on a mat, but his fall wasn’t graceful or planned even though SHIELD had taught him how to fall on his first day of training. Groaning, he lay there for a second, stunned, as the buzz of pain started in his wrist and radiated up his arm, throbbing to the beat of his rapidly beating heart.

“Fuck - Steve!” Natasha called as she hurried over. “You okay?”

“STEVE!”

He cradled his arm to his chest, wincing as he tried to sit up and his head started to throb.

Bucky appeared out of nowhere, breathing heavily as he crouched by Steve’s side. “What the hell?” he demanded as he glared at Natasha across Steve’s mostly prone body.

“Relax,” Natasha said with probably the brusquest bedside manner Steve had ever heard. “It’s probably a sprain and a concussion. Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about?” Bucky repeated in a strangled voice.

“I’m fine, Buck,” Steve said, patting him on the knee with his good hand. “Just got a little banged up.”

Bucky scowled. “You said the same thing when AJ dislocated your shoulder in seventh grade.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve turned to Natasha. “You know healing spells?”

“Yes-”

“No fucking way,” Bucky cut in, leaning over Steve protectively. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Okay,” Natasha said, but her eyes had turned cold. “I’ll let you do this because Steve’s in pain and we don’t need to argue about this now, but you’ve got to trust us to take care of our own.” She stood up and left.

Bucky made quick work of performing the same spells that Sarah had used to heal Steve countless times. He’d learned them from her shortly after he had Bonded with Steve and could finally use his magic, and their spells both carried the same quirks, the same soothing touch that reminded Steve of home.

He smiled as Bucky helped him to his feet, worriedly holding him stable for a second as if Steve needed to get his bearings after a minor wrist sprain and half a minute of a concussion.

“You got lucky pal,” Bucky grumbled after Steve told him for the third time that he was fine. “I was watching – she was ready to really whammy you back there. She only pulled back last second, and still look what happened.”

“My fault,” Steve said as Bucky pushed open the gym doors for him and headed for the elevators back up to their apartments. “I took the shields down to get her.”

“Christ,” Bucky muttered as they stepped in and he pushed the button for their floor. “You competitive son of a bitch.”

“I got her,” Steve said, mustering up a weak smile that quailed at the glower Bucky sent him.

“It’s our first week, you couldn’t take it easy?” Bucky griped.

“Gotta make a good impression.” Steve sighed as he leaned back against the elevator walls, eyes closed.

“Of course you do.”

“Come on, we’re the new guys,” Steve said, eyes opening a crack to look at him. “They have to take us seriously.”

“Punk, that attitude was understandable when you were one hundred pounds soaking wet and couldn’t charm yourself enough ice packs for all your bruises. Of fucking course they take us seriously,” Bucky said. “We made it through a year of SHIELD training, we passed all their stupid tests. And even if they didn’t – who fucking cares? Tony Stark barely takes himself seriously. It looks like Clint puts more effort into taking care of his dog than bonding with his team.”

After they stepped out of the elevator, Bucky paused in front of his door. “Just… maybe they brought us here because their team isn’t all that serious yet. I know Natasha has been making a big stink about the importance of the team, but honestly from what I’ve seen it sounds like a lot of hot air at the moment.” He shrugged. “I did some reading, and the old guard only phased out earlier this year – Hank Pym went back to Pym Technologies, and Janet van Dyne disappeared. Thor Odinson and Loki Laufeyson are on semi-permanent hiatus.” Bucky licked his lips and swallowed. “Maybe you don’t need to run yourself to the ground to prove yourself. I don’t think the Avengers need a soldier; they need a leader. Just… lead, Steve, and you should be fine. They’ll take you seriously, as long as you do.”

“I never thought I’d see the day when Bucky Barnes followed anyone,” Steve joked.

Bucky threw him a tired smirk as he shoved his apartment door open. “Hell no, not anyone. But that little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight? I’ll always follow him.”

* * *

That evening Bucky and Steve joined the rest of the team in the communal area for a team dinner and debrief of the results of the day’s training. When they emerged from the elevator to the living room, they found Natasha and Tony arguing about movies on the couch, Bruce cooking in the kitchen, and Clint stealing food under the pretense of helping. Lucky was snoozing at the other end of the couch from Tony.

Bucky zeroed in on Lucky, who looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. The rhythmic thumps of his tail against the couch cushions made Tony stop arguing mid-rant about pretentious foreign films.

“Hey, Rin Tin Tin, about time you showed!”

“Tony,” Natasha said reproachfully, elbowing him sharply in the ribs.

“What?” Tony turned to her, affronted. “I even got the breed right this time.”

“Congratu-fucking-lations,” Bucky deadpanned. “Too bad the species you’re actually looking for is _homo sapien.”_

“Were you raised in a barn?” Natasha asked Tony loudly as she got up to make room for Steve since Bucky was still occupied with Lucky. “You didn’t even say hi to Steve.”

“I was trying to come up with a nickname!”

Natasha did not look impressed. “How about Steve.”

“You are absolutely no fun at all.”

“I’m Russian.”

“You’re right. I don’t know why I even bother.”

Steve stood over them, arms crossed across his chest. “Just Steve is fine,” he said warily. Crouched down by his feet to play with Lucky, Bucky elbowed him in the calf.

“You’re all communists!” Tony said scornfully as he pushed himself off the couch. “Hey, Bruce, what’s the hold up with dinner?”

Natasha watched him go with a cautious eye. “Please don’t mind him,” she said to Steve. “He’s just not used to change. When he realizes you’re here for good he’ll calm down. Act like a real person.”

“There’s a real person underneath all that?” Steve asked dryly.

“Jury’s still out, but I am hopeful,” Natasha said with a shrug as Steve took Tony’s vacated spot.

“I thought you were Russian?” Bucky asked, smirking as he straightened up and sat next to Steve.

“I didn’t say very hopeful.”

Steve chuckled. “What were you arguing about?”

“Movie night,” Natasha said, gesturing to the screen. “I heard there was a new mini-series adaptation of Anna Karenina out, and I wanted to see it.”

“Is it good?” Long, dramatic foreign films weren’t really Steve’s preferred entertainment, but he was always willing to try something once.

“Maybe?” she said, settling back down on the couch. “I have a bet with Bruce on who can pick the movie that bores Tony the most. So far he’s winning with a documentary of the Permian period. It took Tony ten minutes to pick up his phone and ignore the rest of us.”

“Who doesn’t like dinosaurs?” Bucky asked as he patted Lucky’s head.

“No dinosaurs until the Triassic period.”

“Bummer.”

“Clint thought so too. He and Tony started doing shots whenever they said ‘Pangea.’”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “Wouldn’t it be a better bet to see what movie can hold Tony’s attention the longest?”

Natasha looked at him thoughtfully. “You know, maybe we’ll try that one next.”

“Try what one?” Tony piped up from behind them.

Natasha twisted around to see him and said without missing a beat, “A fictionalized account of the milk crisis in upstate New York in 1936 that almost led to a dairy strike and a catastrophic shortage in Depression-era New York City. Steve’s absolutely dying to see it.”

“Absolutely dying,” Steve repeated, trying and probably failing to sound enthusiastic.

Bucky snorted a laugh.

“What’s it called?” Tony asked skeptically.

“Milk Money,” Bucky chimed in, the corners of his mouth twitching. “There’s Oscar buzz and everything. For sound mixing.”

Natasha nodded solemnly in agreement.

“Whatever,” Tony said with a wave of his hand. “I don’t care. But if you want any food before Bruce eats it all, dinner’s ready.”

The three of them followed Tony to the kitchen where Bruce was dumping two strainers’ worth of spaghetti into a giant bowl and Clint was half-heartedly mixing a salad.

“Can someone get the bread out of the oven?” Bruce asked distractedly as he killed the heat under marinara sauce and meatballs simmering in a pan on the stove.

“Where are the oven mitts?” Steve asked, glancing around at Natasha, Clint, and Tony.

“What are you looking at me for?” Tony asked him.

“It’s your house,” Steve pointed out.

“And do I need oven mitts to make Poptarts and coffee?”

“No?” Steve answered, nonplussed.

“So I have no fucking idea where they are,” Tony said as he pulled out his phone and began typing.

Steve shared a surprised look with Bucky, who shook his head at Tony’s rudeness, equally baffled.

“Is that all you make?” Natasha asked with a sad shake of her head as she handed Steve the oven mitts from where they were hanging on a hook attached to the wall near a magnetic strip covered in various kitchen knives.

“No – I also am very adept at burning toast,” he heard Tony say as Steve ducked down to fetch two French baguettes covered in aluminum foil from the oven.

“Nice,” Natasha said.

“What?” Tony said defensively. “I’m a billionaire inventor slash Avengers leader. Do I look like I have time to learn to feed myself?”

“You spent an hour debating that stupid caveman vs astronaut fight with Bruce yesterday.”

“For _science.”_

“Sure.”

“You didn’t have to stay and listen to it, Miss Peanut Gallery.”

“Okay,” Bruce said in the brief pause in conversation. “So dinner’s officially ready.”

“Looks delicious,” Steve said, tossing a smile at Bruce. “Thank you for making it.”

A chorus of other thanks followed, and Bruce ducked his head as he put the various pots and pans in the sink. He accepted the plate that Bucky handed to him, and they trickled back into the living room to eat and continue talking.

“Okay,” Natasha began. “Debrief then movie debate?”

“If we try to decide on the movie now, then we’ll get to the debrief at around four am or something,” Clint hissed to Steve as he slipped Lucky part of a meatball.

“We won,” Tony said. “Debrief over?” He looked around hopefully.

Bruce sighed as Natasha rolled her eyes and launched into a discussion of the mistakes and areas of improvement that she saw, with some contributions from Clint.

“I think Steve and Bucky should have a bigger role in planning and defense,” Natasha said once all their training moves and decisions had been picked apart. “Coulson said they showed real promise.”

“Hold on,” Tony said, leaning forward over his empty plate to stare at her. “I thought we planned missions as a team.”

“And how has that worked out?” Clint asked with raised eyebrows. “Our last one was a shit show. We got compromised in five minutes, and the bad guys swooped into steal the day.”

“Everyone followed their own agenda and did not listen to anyone else,” Natasha continued patiently. “We need a better hierarchy of command, or SHIELD will send someone to oversee us.”

Tony scowled. “Agent Agent?”

“Coulson was a possibility, yes,” Natasha said with a dip of her head.

Tony rolled his eyes. “He couldn’t handle us.”

“He’s managed a STRIKE team of his own for years.” Natasha pushed her empty plate away and stretched on the couch. “When he gets bored of that, he organizes classes of recruitment and training.”

“Great, so he’s too busy,” Tony retorted.

“I think we should give them a chance,” Bruce cut in with a shrug as he gestured towards Steve and Bucky. “It can’t hurt at this point.”

Clint grinned and slapped Bucky on the back. “That’s the spirit! Aw, meatball, no.” The meatball, jostled from its plate, caught Lucky’s attention. He scampered off to the kitchen enjoy his half-meatball in peace.

“Anyway,” Natasha said pointedly. “Coulson said that Steve and Bucky proposed a different plan during their oral exam for our last failed mission that had better coverage and a quicker recovery of intel. I read the transcript – it might’ve worked.”

“Might doesn’t guarantee anything,” Tony pointed out.

“Might is better than whatever happened in Sacramento,” Natasha sniped back. “Clint was right, that was a major fuck up, and that can’t happen next time.”

“Fine, but SHIELD poster boy has been awfully quiet,” Tony said, craning his neck to get a glimpse of Steve behind Bruce. “What do you think?”

Steve said slowly, “From your last mission debrief, it looked like everyone was trying to make the right call, but nobody was communicating properly. Everyone focused on their agendas and only told the others what they saw or accomplished as to how it related to them, and not the team objectives.” Steve paused to breathe, straining to remember the details of the mission that he’d read about last night. “So when Tony took out the front guards with one of his repulsor spells because he had the shot, Clint’s job got harder because he had planned on taking out all the guards in one go, and now had to deal with the rest of them on high alert instead of unawares.” He glanced around, a little surprised that no one had interrupted him yet. “And when Bruce veered off onto the wrong path but out of danger, nobody thought to warn Natasha even though she had been planning on using that route to get to the system servers and she was made at once.”

“Right, now that Steve has performed like a dancing pony to convince you, can we get to the movie?” Bucky grumbled into the ensuing silence.

“I’m not convinced,” Tony said quickly.

Bucky groaned. “Why the fuck not, Stark?”

“Because in training today, I gave him the option to plan how to take out Natasha and Chicken Little, and he came up with jack squat.”

“You gave me five seconds!” Steve retorted.

“And you had nothing!”

Steve’s eyes flashed. “We went with your plan in the beginning, how the hell was I supposed to know that you were going to drop command halfway through?”

“Expect the unexpected with the Avengers, didn’t they teach you that at SHIELD?”

“That’s a platitude, not a lesson,” Steve said, glowering. “Among other things, they taught us basic communication skills, which you seem to lack.”

“I think you’ll find I can communicate just fine,” Tony growled, hands clenching into fists at his sides. “You think you’re so fucking special because SHIELD picked you out of a lineup, but let me tell you, you know _nothing_ of what we’re trying to do here.”

“And what’s that?” Steve asked, lip curling. “Because it looks like all you’re doing is laying waste to government resources and drawing unnecessary attention to what should be a stealth team.”

Bruce took one alarmed look at the vein jumping in Tony’s temple and put a hand out between them. “Hold on, guys,” he said, glancing worriedly at Steve’s clenched jaw. “Just, calm down.”

“I’ll calm the fuck down when newbie here learns his place!”

“My place?” Steve echoed with a look like he’d just sucked a lemon. “Weren’t you just preaching how the Avengers do everything as a team? So it’s teamwork, teamwork, teamwork, as long as you’re team leader?”

“Would you look at that, Blondie has some brains after all,” Tony said scornfully.

Bruce stood up. “That’s enough,” he said, hands splayed. “Tony, be quiet for five minutes.”

“Hey!”

“And Steve, I don’t know you very well but, you’d do well to shut up and listen to someone other than Tony when he has his head up his ass.”

“Hey!” Tony repeated.

“We need a team leader, that much is supremely evident,” Natasha said as she traded a look with Bruce. She was splayed out on the couch, one arm resting behind Clint’s head and her back flush against the cushions. Her fingers, though, were moving slowly, twisting as she readied herself for the potential fight.

“Should we vote?” Bruce asked, confidence seeping out of him as he looked to Natasha for help. Shoulder slumped and looking a little worried, he sat back down.

“No point,” Natasha dismissed. Her fingers stilled. She pointed at each of them in turn, saying, “You, Clint, and Tony will all vote for Tony. Steve, Bucky, and I will go for Steve. We’d need a tie breaker.” She slapped a hand to Clint’s mouth before he could speak, adding, “And Lucky doesn’t count.” Her mouth quirked up in a ghost of a smile. “He’d just choose Bucky anyway.”

Clint crossed his arms across his chest but didn’t say anything else.

“Fine, we’ll play to everyone’s strengths,” she said with a sigh. “Divide and conquer. As much as I hate to admit it, Tony knows us best with all the tech he makes us. He’ll do the preliminary set up and have last-word until feet hit the ground.” She glared at Tony. “But just because you’re in charge does not mean that Steve or the rest of us have not input, okay?”

Tony muttered, “Fine,” looking slightly mollified.

“And once we’re in position, Steve will take over.” She sighed, placing a hand at her temple. “Steve, from what I’ve seen and what Coulson told me, you should be up to the task.”

“Fine,” Steve said shortly, crossing his arms across his chest.

Clint looked around, as if searching for some signal. “How about that movie?”

Beneath the table, Bucky slapped him a low-five.

* * *

“He’s making all of these stupid power plays,” Steve fumed, stomping into Bucky’s apartment uninvited after the film had ended. “And I get it, he’s a billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, but that doesn’t mean he’s a good man.”

“Steve, it’s one in the morning,” Bucky groaned as he emerged from the bedroom wearing the same tee shirt from earlier but pajama pants instead of his usual jeans. “Can’t this wait?”

“No.”

“Of course not,” Bucky sighed.

“It’s just – why bring us here at all if they’re not going to listen to a thing I have to say?”

“First of all,” Bucky began, holding up a finger to stall Steve’s pretty much guaranteed rant about the day’s events, “Only Tony Stark wasn’t listening to you. The rest of us were perfectly happy to hear your side of the story, you know, up until you started spewing insults.”

“I was not-”

“Steve, you called him an attention-hogging capitalist with the morals of a snail because he pointed out that Carl was actually sitting on prime real estate.”

“HOW DO YOU SIDE WITH THE REAL ESTATE MOGULS IN _UP?”_

Bucky flapped his hands. “It’s one in the fucking morning, keep it down!”

Steve scoffed, eyes rolling towards the ceiling. “Tony _should_ hear this.”

“Tony is two floors up in his penthouse probably sleeping like a baby,” Bucky told him grumpily. He picked at a hole in his pants. “Unlike some people,” he muttered.

Steve glowered. “He called me a socialist.”

“You kind of are.”

“Well excuse me for thinking the government should take care of its goddamn constituents!”

Bucky made a face. “So why are you upset?”

“He said it like I should be ashamed of it!”

“Are you?”

“No!”

“Then what’s the fucking problem?” Bucky asked wearily. “Honestly, Steve, I think you’re just mad that you found someone as stubborn as you.”

“You’re just as stubborn as I am,” Steve observed, nonplussed.

Bucky shrugged. “And it took three separate occasions to convince me you were worth the trouble.”

“So I should get Tony to like me?” Steve asked. He nearly dry heaved at the thought, but he held it in. Bucky was already too close to calling him out for dramatics and leaving Steve alone to stew while he went to bed.

Bucky’s lips pursed in thought. “I think you shouldn’t write him off based on first impressions,” he said. “You didn’t, with me, at least. Tony’s got a lot going on – and I know, I know, he can’t rely on excuses for all of his behavior – but I got the feeling the Avengers are the only stable thing in his life.”

“So?”

“So his relationship with Pepper Potts has been in and out of the tabloids for years, and before that the media attacked him for choosing Bruce Banner as his familiar. Since Bruce didn’t like the limelight, Tony took it upon himself to defend his choice all on his own. He was out in public for weeks trying to shut down that shit storm and justify his extremely personal decision.”

“That was years ago,” Steve said, but the tension was slowly draining from shoulders as Bucky continued to talk.

“I know,” Bucky said patiently. “But I’m just saying that the guy has had to fight for every fucking thing in his life. I think he’s like you – he’s been fighting for so long he can’t see the war’s practically over.”

“He was born with at least a hundred silver fucking spoons in his mouth,” Steve said flatly. “I know you think you’re good at reading people, Buck, but-”

“But nothing,” Bucky interrupted. “All that money? Yes, he was born with it. He didn’t choose it. He chose Pepper, he chose Bruce. Hell, he chose to go into clean energy and has gotten endless shit for leaving the Magical Department high and dry in terms of magical weapons. He’s had to justify making Pepper his CEO to all the businessmen in the world who said she couldn’t handle it. All of his public decisions have been questioned since he was twenty-five. What do you think that does to someone?”

Steve stayed silent.

“Yeah, nothing good,” Bucky said with a knowing look.

“I did think you were letting him get off easy with the whole dog treats thing,” Steve muttered.

Bucky heaved himself off the couch and started making his way to his bedroom. “I’m not saying you have to be besties tomorrow. I’m just asking you to give him a chance, alright? I’m reserving judgment. I think we could have a good thing going here. Don’t fuck it up before its even started no matter how much he pisses you off.”

The next morning, after his run and breakfast, Steve went down to Tony and Bruce’s lab, extra coffee in hand and determination in his stride. Bruce was nowhere to be seen, but Tony was clearly visible through the glass, manually tinkering with some metal contraption that looked half car battery, half motherboard.

“Tony?” he called, wincing at the volume of AC/DC blasting in the lab. The base guitar riffs were so loud he could feel them rattling his sternum.

Big surprise, Tony couldn’t hear him and didn’t look up as Steve approached. Steve tapped him once on the shoulder and attempted to hide his grin as Tony jumped and whirled around. His expression hardened as he took in who had come to visit him, and he cast a quick silencing charm. The music cut out abruptly, leaving Steve’s ears ringing in the sudden quiet.

“You couldn’t turn it off? You’re wasting energy,” Steve said before he could stop himself.

“So? It’s my energy to waste,” Tony said flippantly. “But thanks for the reminder, Oliver Twist.”

“I – sorry, yes, I know that,” Steve said as he thrust the extra coffee at Tony’s midsection.

Tony took a quick step back, eyeing the offering warily. “You going to spill that on me?”

“What? No.”

“Are you going to drink it in front of me and make me watch?”

“What? No, I got it for you.”

Tony took it, eyes narrowed in suspicion as his gaze flicked up to Steve’s face and back down to the paper cup in his hands. “Is it poisoned?”

“Would I tell you if it was?” Steve’s joke fell flat. He sighed. “No, it’s not poisoned or tampered with. It’s black, which is apparently how you like it.”

“How did you know that?”

“I asked Bruce at breakfast.”

Tony took a tentative sip. “Acceptable,” he declared.

“Good,” Steve said as he let out a sigh he didn’t know he had been holding. “I was going to get you breakfast too, but Bruce said you usually didn’t eat it.”

“I don’t,” Tony said as he turned back around to focus on the gadget on his work table. He didn’t undo the silencing charm, though, so Steve took that as a sign for him to stay. “You getting chatty with Bruce? He’s not usually Little Miss Chatterbox.”

“No he’s not,” Steve said with a strained chuckle. “But he does answer point-blank questions.”

Tony didn’t look up. “Why are you here?”

A little taken aback by the abrupt change of conversation, Steve took a moment to respond. “I wanted a do over. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“Is that so?” Tony asked, tilting his head to glance at Steve.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “I might’ve judged you too soon.”

 Tony merely hummed, flinching as the device he was working on fizzled and sparked without any visible catalyst. “What made you see the error of your ways?”

“Bucky,” Steve said as he shoved his hands in his pockets now that he wasn’t holding Tony’s coffee. “He was a, uh, fan of yours when we were in high school. Let me know last night that I didn’t have the whole story.”

Tony snorted. “A fan?”

“I could draw the parts of the quinjet with my eyes closed at one point, he spent so much time talking about it,” Steve said with a smile.

“Seriously?”

Steve nodded. “He built a model for the science fair that year.”

Tony snorted. “Of course he did. Let me know if he still has it somewhere, I’d be happy to autograph it for him.”

Steve laughed. “I know you’re joking, but he’d be over the moon.”

“Who said anything about joking?” Tony turned to face Steve fully. “He’s from around here, right? Brooklyn?”

“We both are,” Steve said, completely bewildered by Tony’s one-eighty and the fact that he probably had read SHIELD’s files on him and Bucky sometime in the past two days.

“So? Tell me the address. We can take Happy.”

“Happy?”

“My driver.”

“Your driver,” Steve echoed faintly. “Of course.”

Tony whipped out his phone. “So, address?”

“It’s at my ma’s apartment, actually,” Steve said, words slipping out before he thought to rein them in. “He doesn’t really talk to his parents anymore.”

“No?” Tony asked, looking up from his phone screen. “Why’s that?”

“They – uh – he’s a familiar… and they’re not. It caused… problems growing up.”

“Humans?” Tony asked.

“Witches.”

Tony let out a huff of air that Steve might’ve mistaken for a laugh if he’d never heard a proper one before. “Disappointed parents?” Tony asked with raised eyebrows. “Yeah, I know nothing about that.” He powered down the contraption in his hands and set it down on the table. “Field trip time. Are you going to call man’s best friend?”

“Uh, no,” Steve said, glancing up at the ceiling where Bucky was probably still sleeping thirty floors up. “I’m pretty sure I’m the one you have the issues with, not him. I figure we’ll keep this is just between you and me.”

“You do know how that sounds, right?” Tony said, smirking.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Sure, but I hate you, so it’s not like that.”

“Whatever you say, big guy.”

* * *

“Gotta say, I pictured something more sepia toned,” Tony said, looking distinctly out of place in Sarah’s kitchen as he surveyed the two-bedroom apartment. He didn’t see Steve roll his eyes behind him.

Steve could barely believe Tony had enough breath to comment on the state of his mother’s apartment what with all the complaining he did on the way up about the lack of elevator.

They’d actually made it to Brooklyn without snapping too much at each other, save for their initial argument about the merits of public transportation (Steve) and private chauffeur (Tony). As they stood in front of Avengers Tower, Steve had let Tony win once Tony pointed out that he’d most likely get mobbed if he tried to take the MTA. Stuck in traffic on the way over, Steve had asked Tony what he’d been working on in the lab, pushing down the twinge of guilt that Bucky should really be the one to listen to Tony blather on about science one-on-one first. But by the time they crawled off the Brooklyn Bridge, Steve had been fully filled in on what Natasha had meant when she said that Tony knew the team the best.

As Tony unashamedly snooped in Sarah’s kitchen, peering in half-open cabinets and inspecting their stained microwave with its door that wouldn’t shut with an expression akin to horror, Steve could see the glint of golden metal with at his wrist that might be mistaken for a watch band. In fact, as Steve had learned when Tony had pulled up his blazer sleeve to show him in the car, they enabled Tony’s self-invented repulsor spells. The repulsor beam would be nigh impossible and incredibly dangerous to accomplish by itself; it was too powerful. Tony could only use it in with a honing spell to direct the blast, a shield spell to protect Tony from incidental damage, and a failsafe spell if the repulsors needed power reserves that Tony and Bruce didn’t have. Tony designed the metal cuffs that went all the way up to his elbow to hold the spells together and set them off at will, so instead of casting four spells at once, all Tony had to do was activate his cuffs. Steve could recognize ingenious spellwork and an attractive design when it was two feet from his nose, not that he would ever tell Tony that.

Tony had made similar gear for the rest of the Avengers, like the Widow’s Bites, as he called them, for Natasha. Similarly spelled as his cuffs, they held an invisibility charm, a silencing charm, and knockout spells that shocked the recipient with enough energy to render them unconscious.

For Clint, on the off chance that he’d be in human form on missions, Tony had made him trick arrows that flew through the air almost as gracefully and deadly as Clint did.

“No sepia,” Steve corrected as he leaned against the back of the couch. “Tony, we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Tony whirled around. “Was that a reference? Did you try to make a joke? Is Manhattan Kansas in his scenario because… no.”

Steve blinked, more than a little taken aback at the rapid flurry of questions.

Tony waved him off without a response. “Forget it. I thought we’d have to bust out the thumb screws before you cracked a joke. I’ll count this as a win.”

“I can make jokes,” Steve grumbled, trying and mostly failing to keep the sullenness out of his tone, if Tony’s answering grin was any indication.

“Oh yeah?” Tony asked as he moved onto the living room. “I thought the stick was so far up your ass that it was messing with your cerebellum.”

Steve sucked in a breath, mouth opening to tell Tony exactly why he shouldn’t say those sort of things, but one look at Tony’s knowing expression and smug upturn to his mouth stopped him. “Why do you do that?” he asked instead.

“Do what?”

“Say things that you know will piss me off.”

Tony glanced over to him once before going back to silently bemoan the state of Steve’s decade-old television. “Because it’s fun?”

“It’s really fun to be the only one in on a joke?” Steve splayed his hands to gesture at the empty apartment. “Because it’s just us here.”

“Thank you, I hadn’t noticed that I hauled ass off to Brooklyn with Captain Uptight.” Tony turned around, his gaze flinty. “I do it because I’m still not convinced you’re not some SHIELD drone Fury sent in to report back on our every move and keep us toeing the party line. Also, your mother’s apartment is frightfully spartan and is giving away no clues.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Steve said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Just because I came from SHIELD does not mean that I agree with everything they’ve done. They gave me an opportunity, and I took it. Sure, that deserves some loyalty for giving me a chance in the first place, but I didn’t join the Avengers to police you – come on, you seriously thought they’d recruit me for that job?”

“The all-American beefcake with magic up the wazoo? Yeah, I’ll take Captain America for five hundred, Alex.”

Steve blinked at him. “That’s seriously what you see when you look at me?”

“That’s news to you?”

“Shouldn’t be,” Steve said, slumping slightly. He cast his eyes around the living room, eyes catching on a framed photo just out of Tony’s eyesight on top of the bookshelf by the window. He crossed the room without another word and handed it to him.

“That’s me,” he said, pointing a little unnecessarily, “and Bucky. I was about a hundred and twenty pounds, five foot four, and a magical disaster until eighteen. I got suspended six times from fifth grade through ninth for not standing down when bullies made fun of me. I mastered my first spell in high school. Bonding with Bucky nearly killed me.” He didn’t meet Tony’s gaze as he continued, “I owed SHIELD for seeing that,” he tapped at the glass covering the photograph, “and thinking, hey, maybe he could do some good in the world if given a chance.” He sighed. “I thought that the Avengers could see this,” he said, gesturing to himself, “and think the same, but I guess not.”

Tony didn’t say anything, but his eyes were glued to the photo in his hands.

Steve sighed. “It’s getting late. If we start back now, we’ll can be in midtown in time for lunch.”

Tony cleared this throat. “My first memory is restarting one of my toys that had run out of battery. Long story short, the grownups in my life thought it was less amazing than I did. I was six. Magic’s always come easy to me, and I forget that some witches had to work for it. I forget that people have to work for a lot of things,” he said quickly, almost without pausing for breath. “You really got suspended for fighting?”

Steve snorted. “Suspended, detention, letters home, you name it. I got it all.” He grinned wryly. “Never seemed to stick, though. I can’t stand bullies. Not a big fan of rules either, if they’re not in place for the right reasons.”

“And if SHIELD turned out to be the bully in this scenario?” Tony asked, eyebrows raised as he handed the photo back to Steve to place on the shelf.

“Then I’d kick their ass same as you,” Steve said simply.

Tony nodded in agreement. “Seems fair.” He paused. “Wait, do you mean you’d kick my ass too? Because I don’t think that’d end well for you.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Why, you want to find out?”

“Next training session? Want to spar, one-on-one?” Steve asked.

Tony smiled, probably for the first time directed at Steve, and some of the tension he’d been holding in his chest since he stepped foot in Avengers Tower seemed to loosen. “You’re on.”

“Keep those cuffs on; you’ll need them,” Steve said, as he reached atop the bookshelf for Bucky’s painstakingly rendered replica of Tony Stark’s quinjet that he’d seen at the Stark Expo at age thirteen. He carefully brought it down to eye level.

“So this is it?” Tony asked as he inspected it.

“This is it.”

“It’s good,” Tony said eventually.

Steve couldn’t help puffing his chest out a little at the praise that would pass on to Bucky. “He had a poster board that explained how all the engines worked and the physics of the lift. We got rid of that since it didn’t fit in my bedroom.”

“Didn’t fit?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, tilting his head as he studied Tony curiously. “My bedroom’s ten by twelve. It’s a shoebox.”

Tony wasted no time in barging past Steve towards the one closed door in the apartment. He stood in the threshold, gaping. “You lived like this for how long?”

“Uh, eighteen years?” Steve said, adjusting his hold on Bucky’s quinjet. “I was a lot smaller for most of it.”

“Still,” Tony said as he walked back, uncapping a sharpie he withdrew from nowhere. “Where’s the best place to sign?”

“Probably here,” Steve said, pointing at the left wing. “Bucky messed up the paint job – ran out of the right shade halfway through. If you put your name there, it won’t look as bad.”

Tony scrawled something that might look like a signature to a blind person, but Steve had no doubt that Bucky would recognize it in a heartbeat. “There,” he said as he completed the last flourish. “Time to blow this popsicle stand, Captain America.”

Steve let out a slow breath through his nose. “Are you going to stick with that one?”

“Seems to fit,” Tony said as he watched Steve put the quinjet model back on top of the bookcase. “America’s the scrappy little nobody that the world thought wouldn’t amount to much when it gave the big fuck you to the English Empire and a few hundred years later – bam –the world’s only superpower. You don’t see it?”

“No.”

“You lie too? Today’s been full of so many surprises.”

* * *

Steve and Bucky’s first mission with the Avengers came with hitches, but was an overall success. Straight out of some sort of comic book movie, a witch cast a new mass mind-controlling spell on the crowds of tourists in the Financial District and lower Manhattan and attempted to use their sheer numbers to take on the Federal Reserve Bank of New York. Normally, the Guardians would take on this type of situation, but since it was in the Avengers back yard, SHIELD sent them instead. The Avengers split up, with Tony and Bruce going after the lead witch and his familiar, while Natasha, Clint, Steve, and Bucky, on crowd control, trying to subdue the brainwashed masses with minimal casualties. In the end, some tourists got badly trampled, but at least no deaths. They caught the witch, and prosecuted him for performing illegal mind magic and attempted robbery.

For their second mission, SHEILD sent them in to infiltrate and take out a magical trafficking ring that was kidnapping familiars from abroad and selling them as little more than equivalent of magical blood bags for witches that could fork over the cash. Primarily from developing nations, the familiars that they had found had been malnourished, non-English speakers, and too terrified out of their minds to trust anyone, let alone the Avengers. With getting the traumatized familiars sorted, the higher ups in custody, and the paper trail on the books, things slipped through. Some familiars just ran away, took to the sky or ocean and vanished without a trace. Some leaders of the organization got away. The mission had hit Bucky hard, and he’d been very quiet the whole flight back home from Boston.

Bucky wore a glazed look on his face like a zombie, and the entire time Steve lead the debrief, he kept shooting him worried looks, which went unnoticed.

“Hey,” he said quietly as the Avengers began to disperse, wearily trooping to the showers or to their rooms to pass out for twelve hours. He placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, which went unacknowledged. “You want to catch some shut eye?”

Bucky swallowed. “I – sure,” he said blinking dazedly around the elevator like he was waking up from a nap.

“Anything I can do?”

“What?”

Steve sighed. “You seem…” he drifted off. “Not okay.”

Bucky shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, just let me know,” Steve said outside his door, watching out of the corner of his eye as Bucky unlocked his own and slipped inside without another word.

Thirty minutes later, Steve was still lying awake in bed, unable to close his eyes without seeing the way Bucky looked as he transformed back into his human shape. They’d been safely in the quinjet by that point, the threat neutralized and miles below them. Bucky had wedged himself into the seat furthest towards the back, knees drawn up to his chest, staring at the dark interior of the plane, unseeing.

Steve had tried unsuccessfully to draw him into conversation, first discussing the mission, and when that had gotten a violent wince in return, he switched to talking about their next visit to Sarah. She’d finally taken her first vacation in years, and had gone south to Miami to visit some of her older friends who had retired to warmer climates. Bucky seemed to relax by degrees, but clammed right back up again as they sat down for Fury’s debrief.

Steve threw back the covers and hitched his pajama pants higher on hips. The exhaustion had sunk deep in his bones after staying awake for twenty-four straight hours, so training was out of the option, but he couldn’t shut off his brain long enough to fall asleep. Worry gnawed in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t bother locking his apartment door behind him; if Bucky wasn’t awake then he’d head straight back.

Steve rapped three times on Bucky’s door without a response. He glanced down the hallway of closed doors, but no irate Avengers poked their heads out to tell him to knock it off. Just as he was about to turn back around and call it a night, Bucky opened the door, looking if possible more worn out than before.

“Steve?” he rasped. “What’s going on?” He’d changed out of most of his mission gear, leaving on his boxers and undershirt. Concerned, Steve could easily for once latch onto Bucky’s face instead of lingering glances at the skin on display.

“I – uh – couldn’t sleep,” Steve said apologetically.

“So you thought you’d wake me up?” Bucky asked with barely a fraction of his usual teasing.

Steve plowed on, “Wondered if you wanted some company.”

“Sure,” Bucky said after a moment and let him in. “I was just watching a movie.”

“Anything good?”

Bucky didn’t answer, instead gesturing to the television with a tired wave of his hand. Steve spared a second to watch a lizard scamper across a desert plain before returning to study Bucky’s profile. He sat down next to him, close enough to let their arms touch, and let himself smile as Bucky leaned into his weight.

They sat there for the rest of the movie, not speaking, until the credits rolled.

Steve, who had fallen into a sort of doze, jerked to alertness at the sound of knocking on Bucky’s door. Bucky muttered a curse as he sat upright, staring at the door for a beat before he slowly got to his feet.

Natasha didn’t wait for an invitation before striding in. “Room for one more?”

“What?” Steve asked, still trying to absorb her unexpected appearance.

Natasha waited until Bucky had taken his seat back on the couch next to Steve to perch on the arm of the sofa. She foisted a bottle she had mostly kept out of sight in his face. “I got some of Tony’s good stuff.”

“Is now really the time to drink?” Steve asked even as Bucky reached across him to take the whiskey from her. “I guess so,” he muttered to himself.

Bucky took a swig, and silently passed it back to Natasha, who took a drink as well. “You should always unwind after a difficult mission,” she said. “I’ve found that fighting, fucking, and drinking work best.”

“Hopefully not all at the same time,” Steve said under his breath.

It didn’t get a reaction from Bucky, but Natasha smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Where’s Clint?” Bucky asked, brows furrowed.

Natasha licked her lips, chasing the taste of the whiskey. “With his wife and kids,” she said. “He always takes a couple of days off after difficult missions.”

Steve took a minute to process. “He’s married?”

“Someone trusted that guy with kids?”

Natasha shook her head ruefully. “Laura’s a saint if I ever met one.”

Steve nodded to himself and tried to imagine Clint a family bigger than Lucky and Natasha.

“Is anyone else secretly married?” Bucky asked grumpily, casting an appraising glance at Natasha who snorted indelicately.

“Not that I know of. And I know a lot.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” Steve said, and got a punch to his arm for his jibe.

“Pepper and Tony are together, obviously, and he’s going to propose sometime in the next year. Bruce is married to his experiments and doesn’t expect or want a girlfriend or a boyfriend who’ll take second place.”

“And you?” Steve asked before he could stop himself.

She studied him carefully before saying, “I get by. I’m not looking for anyone right now. Clint is enough for me.”

“Clint’s family, are they witches or familiars?” Bucky asked quietly.

“They’re all human, actually,” Natasha said, her expression turning serious.

“Good,” Bucky said with surprising vehemence.

“I’ll toast to that,” Natasha said as she lifted the bottle to her mouth and handed it to Bucky.

Once Bucky had had his fill, he passed the whiskey over to Steve questioningly. He took it and tipped it back. Smooth as anything, Steve could taste the price in the lack of burn and heady warmth down this throat.

“And you two?” Natasha asked, gaze piercing. “What’s your deal?”

Bucky glanced at Steve, his expression carefully neutral. “What do you mean?”

“Girlfriends? Hidden wives?”

Bucky snorted. “Not for me. No boyfriends or hidden husbands either.”

Natasha’s expression didn’t change as she accepted Bucky’s correction. Instead, she turned to Steve, eyes glinting. “How about you, Captain America? You got a nuclear family squirrelled away somewhere?”

Steve shook his head. “Nope. It’s just me.”

“You looking?”

“Why? You asking?” Steve shot back.

“Touché.” She tapped her mouth with her index finger. “What’s your type? If you’re interested, that is.”

Steve glanced at Bucky, who was studiously eyeing the bottle in Steve’s hands. He handed over and said to Natasha, “I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair as he pulled his gaze away from line of Bucky’s throat and the way the afternoon sun shone through his hair. “Someone nice, funny, you know, the usual.” He coughed. “I like brunettes.”

“So a decent person,” Natasha said flatly. “Your standards are maxing out at a decent person with brown hair.”

Steve shrugged helplessly.

“I thought you did have your eye on someone,” Bucky piped up before taking another long drink, and now Steve could smell the liquor on his breath. He wormed the bottle of whiskey out of Bucky’s grip.

“I don’t,” Steve told Natasha.

“You don’t?” Bucky repeated. “When did that happen?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said for what felt like the tenth time in as many minutes. He gripped the bottle, hard, as he ground out, “It just did. Nothing was going to ever come of it, so I’ve decided to move on.”

“When?”

“Just now? Why is this important?”

“Because it is!”

Natasha watched them both, entranced. “Am I missing something?”

“No,” Bucky and Steve said at the same time.

Eyebrows nearly at her hairline, she said, “Sure.”

“Besides,” Steve said as he nudged Bucky with his elbow, who jumped at the contact. “I’ve got Bucky. Don’t need anyone else.”

“Ah,” Natasha said, and Steve’s stomach squirmed at the knowing look in her eyes as they darted between them. “The dream team.”

“Seems like,” Steve said quietly as he took another drink of whiskey. “It’s been working well for us so far.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Figures that, out of all of us, the circus runaway from Iowa turned assassin slash G-Man has the farm and the two point five kids.”

“Lucky must love that,” Bucky said.

Natasha nodded. “Makes up for when Clint has to keep him cooped up in the apartment.”

“Wouldn’t Lucky be happier on the farm?” Steve asked, glancing at Bucky before focusing on Natasha.

Natasha made a wiggling motion with her fingers in his face, and he handed the now half-empty bottle over obligingly. “Probably, but Clint needs him here to keep him sane while he’s away from his family. I know I’m a miracle worker, but sometimes Clint’s a hopeless case.” She swallowed down a shot and tossed the bottle to Bucky, who caught it one-handed. She politely clapped at his dexterity while half-way to drunk.

“Sucks to be the only familiar in the family,” Bucky said idly.

“Clint seems not to mind,” Natasha said evenly. “It’s different when the familiar is the high man on the totem pole. Not as fun when the familiar is at the bottom of the pyramid.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “How did you – never mind.”

Natasha pulled a face. “Please, I’m not Tony. For one, I’m actually invested in the team and do my research.”

“Funny how there’s not much to be found on you,” Bucky said pointedly, and Steve took the whiskey bottle from him for his own good.

“Why, did you go looking?” Natasha asked with raised eyebrows.

“I did.”

“And what’d you find?”

“Not much.”

“Pity.”

“Why’d this mission hit you hard?” Steve asked after a beat, the whiskey loosening his tongue and warming his core. “I get why Clint would need a couple days away – he’s a familiar.”

“You saying I can’t sympathize?” Natasha asked, but there was no anger in her tone. She didn’t wait for Steve or Bucky’s response, instead continuing, “In Russia, the Soviet Union when I was a child, the government was far more involved in Bondings than they are here. We did not have the freedom to decide our familiars or witches, they were decided for us by the Kremlin. As soon as a child showed magical potential, they were separated from their peers and family and taught in special centers by the government.”

“Christ,” Bucky muttered, going a bit white.

Natasha reached over Steve and plucked the bottle from Bucky’s slack grip. She took a long pull. “We were trained to be little soldiers, more than anything else. Dark magic, blood magic, mind magic, all of the spells that require advanced degrees and high security clearance to learn here – we learned before we were fourteen.” She glanced down at the rim of the bottle, idly tracing her finger around the ridges of the cap. “This mission, some of the familiars I saw had the same fight that I had. And some… didn’t.” She paused, hefting the whiskey in one hand before taking another shot. “I always find familiar abuse cases the hardest.”

“That’s horrible,” Steve said after a beat.

Bucky frowned. “They didn’t assign you with Clint, did they?”

“Fuck no,” Natasha said with a light laugh. “I Bonded with Clint after I had defected to the US. He was my handler. We just clicked, you know?”

* * *

Steve and Bucky fell into life as Avengers. Missions popped up several times a week or several times a month with no evident pattern. They had their own independent lives, but all came together when it mattered. Tony still had a controlling interest in SI even though Pepper was CEO. Bruce had independent research projects going on in conjunction with multiple universities. Clint and Natasha sometimes loaned out their services as independent contractors to SHIELD. Steve and Bucky still went back to Brooklyn once a week to see Sarah.

A little more than a week after their two-year anniversary with the Avengers, they had all broken up for dinner, as Bruce had a lab experiment that he had been neglecting all day, and Clint was craving pizza while Tony insisted on takeout shawarma. Bucky and Steve, who were exhausted after the mission went for whatever option involved the least amount of movement.

“Tony!”

Tony dropped his half-eaten takeout shawarma like it had caught on fire. He ducked behind Bucky, pulling out his phone and attempting to look busy. “Quick, hide me,” he hissed.

“From what?” Bucky looked around for the threat, baffled.

Steve looked up from his own mini mountain of shawarma to see Pepper stride into the room, the elevator door still closing behind her. The click clack of her stiletto heels echoed ominously on the hardwood floors. Her hair was pulled up into a severe looking ponytail, and she swiped impatiently the bangs that were falling into her eyes as she stood in front of the three of them, hands on her hips.

“Three days, Tony. I’ve been trying to track you down for three days! What the hell was that stunt you pulled at the board meeting about the incident in Detroit? I checked the news, you can’t just _make up_ a national crisis to get out of things you want to do!”

Evidently resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t be able to hide any longer, Tony sat up. “Pepper! Light of my life, don’t you look ravish-”

“Cut the crap,” Pepper sighed. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, and Steve turned around in surprise. In the years that he’d known Tony, he had operated under the assumption that the phrase, ‘I’m sorry,’ was missing from his extensive and colorful vocabulary.

“You’re sorry?”

Tony explained, “I got wrapped up in the lab, and before I knew it, the meeting was already half over, and you know I’d probably just cause a bigger scene barging in there, and I hadn’t slept for forty-eight hours by that point, and falling asleep while their droning about stock prices would’ve been an even bigger PR disaster-”

“Tony,” Pepper sighed, her rigid stance softening. “You’ve got to take better care of yourself. And for god’s sake set up a calendar on your phone. I can’t call you fifteen minutes before every meeting you have to attend.”

“You can’t?” Tony asked pathetically.

“No,” Pepper said shortly, but her mouth twitched upwards in a half-smile. She blinked, taking in Steve and Bucky for the first time. “Uh, hi,” she greeted, looking a little out of sorts for the first time. “Where are the others?”

“Natasha and Clint went for pizza, and Bruce is in the lab,” Tony said. “You’re welcome to stay, Pep. We’re just watching TV and bemoaning the shitty state of the union.”

Pepper fished her phone out of her small handbag. “We don’t have time for this.”

“You sure about that?” Tony asked, eyebrows raised. “It’s ten pm on a Friday. Nobody is working at this hour.”

“Come on, you know that’s not true-”

“And your feet must be killing you. I think Steve left some White Girl Rosé open in the fridge.”

“I think Tony means white wine,” Steve said with a frown.

She wavered. “One hour, Tony,” she said as she sat down next to him. “Then you’re going to bed, no lab, no experiments, no calculations, and then we’re going to go over your paperwork that you’ve been neglecting tomorrow morning. No excuses.”

“Oh Pep, cool it with the dirty talk around the kids.” Tony patted her knee and got up to the kitchen.

Pepper kicked off her heels and took a bite of Tony’s abandoned shawarma. “What are we watching?” she asked after she’d chewed and swallowed.

“60 Minutes special about the anti-magic riots,” Steve said as he read the closed captioning at the bottom of the screen instead of listening to the commentator. “They’re focusing on St. Louis, Kansas City, and Cleveland, but it’s been happening in smaller cities too.”

“What a coincidence,” Pepper said dryly as Tony reappeared with a glass of white wine at her elbow. “That’s what we discussed in that board meeting that Tony missed.”

“What happened?” he asked as he took a sip and then traded it for his plate of shawarma. She glared at him, and he said cheekily, “Just testing if it’s poisoned.”

“Sure you are,” she said dryly. “A group of anti-magic humans held a protest. It got violent, and they damaged parts of our factory in Detroit. The shareholders were concerned about the worker’s safety and,” she grimaced, “more importantly, their demands for higher wages and better benefits now that they have more leverage.”

“I’m glad I skipped that one,” Tony said as he took a big bite of shawarma.

“I’m not,” Pepper said darkly. “If you were there, there might’ve been someone other than me arguing that the workers deserved fair compensation for what basically amounted to hazard pay while they clean everything up. Some of those materials are radioactive, Tony.”

“So they didn’t get it?” Steve cut in, forehead furrowing in concern.

“Not yet,” Pepper sighed. “Tony still has a controlling stake in SI, so I told them that we couldn’t come to a decision without his input.” She glared angrily at Tony over the rim over he glass. “So you’d better be there next time.”

“Cross my heart.”

Bucky snorted. “When is it? Maybe we can remind him to haul ass ten floors down for a meeting if he gets distracted.”

“I’m not a goldfish, I can-”

Pepper beamed at him and said over Tony’s protests, “Next Tuesday, ten am.” She poked Tony hard in the chest. “There will be coffee and pastries, so don’t bail on us this time.”

“Fine, fine,” Tony said, hands in the air in an appeasing gesture.

She turned back to the television, her brows drawing together in concern as she watched footage of police in riot gear march down the largest magical section of Cleveland. “When was the first one? I remember hearing about these when I was in business school.”

“They started appearing on the news six or seven years ago,” Bucky said. “Missouri was the first one that made the national news.”

“I remember,” Pepper said slowly. “Nothing’s changed?”

“The news cycle moved on,” Bucky said grimly.

“Seems like it’s cyclical if we’re talking about it again,” Pepper in an even tone of voice.

Bucky shook his head. “It’s never gone away. We just stopped hearing about it.”

* * *

The attacks, violence, and rioting didn’t stop in Detroit. Over the next month, Wichita, Tulsa, and Nashville saw a surge in anti-magic demonstrations. Governors started drafting bills in earnest for all-human cities, and Detroit was declared in a state of emergency as the violent protests there claimed lives.

Steve wasn’t surprised when Fury called the Avengers in to investigate what was rapidly descending into a national crisis. Apparently, SHIELD had recently received a tip that these “grassroots” movements weren’t so natural, that a secret organization called HYDRA might be responsible. Normally, SHIELD would have written off wild conspiracy theories, but, according to Fury, they never let a HYDRA lead go uninvestigated as a rule.

“So what are we doing exactly?” Clint asked as they gathered around the kitchen table, SHIELD’s files on HYDRA scattered around the table where Natasha had dumped them several minutes ago. He glanced at Natasha. “And what the hell is HYDRA?”

“A secret magical organization that has sought world domination for centuries,” Natasha said as she scrolled through something on her phone. 

Clint barked out a laugh. He sobered as he caught Natasha’s stony expression. “Wait, you’re serious?”

Steve looked to Natasha to respond, but to his surprise Tony offered the next bit of information.

“Their last big push for power involved donating money and bodies to the Third Reich,” he said with a frown. “And it was mainly bodies for scientific experiments, not soldiers, although they did that too. As if they weren’t clearly evil enough.”

The name niggled something in the back of Steve’s brain. “Wasn’t combating HYDRA the main force behind creating SHIELD in the first place?”

Tony tipped his head in acknowledgement as he picked up his phone, still talking. “Sure was. It was my dad’s favorite bedtime story when I was a kid. But what I can’t figure out, is what the hell does riling up a few country bumpkins have to do with world domination? Hell, burning Cleveland to the ground might do America a few favors.”

“Detroit is not full of country bumpkins,” Clint said with uncharacteristic sharpness. “They’re upping their game, if HYDRA’s really behind this.”

“But why now?” Bucky asked, brow furrowed as he flipped through one of the files on the table in front of them, scanning the dossiers and newspaper articles held inside. “Maleficophobia has been around for years.”

“Because some cities are one spell away from an old-fashioned witch burning in the town square?” Natasha pointed out.

“And Natasha said it before,” Bruce added as he adjusted the wire-framed glasses on his nose and picked up the file that had gone lax in Bucky’s grip. “They’re targeting bigger cities, bigger population centers now. It’s why we’re getting involved.”

“And what does that mean exactly?” Steve asked, taking the file from Bruce with a frown.

“Going in, figuring out who’s behind everything, and kicking ass,” Tony said with a smirk as he put down his phone.

“Great,” Steve sighed. “So we have no plan.”

“I didn’t say that,” Tony said. “You didn’t let me finish.”

Steve made a gesture for him to continue. “While we’re young, Stark.”

Tony snorted. “You think you’re funny, but you’re not. You have Dad humor, Cap. Dad humor.” He put his phone down, flickering his fingers to bring forth a bright blue map of Chicago that hovered above the table at eye level. “I’ve been doing some digging. It’s Chicago. It’s next.”

The magical hologram dissolved, reappearing as a close-up of the South Side and the surrounding streets.

“There are rumors that demonstrations will start there next week, when they approve their budget,” Tony said grimly. “It includes a provision to carve out all-human sections of the city, complete with regulations that grant homeowners the right to refuse to rent to witches or familiars, and an extra tax on establishments whose clientele is more than 50% magical folk. It fits the pattern – as soon as the government legalizes maleficophobic laws, the humans go nuts.”

“That’s illegal,” Steve burst out.

“Apparently not,” Tony said. “Since the Religious Freedom Restoration Act was made national three years ago, this sort of thing has precedent.”

“How do we stop it?”

Tony shrugged. “The budget or the demonstrations?”

“Both.”

“Hopefully, there _won’t_ be demonstrations if we can discredit the politicians first. If they’re under some sort of mind control spell or have shady off the books dealings, putting enough of them on trial or behind bars should discredit them and the policies they’ve been working on. If we’re exceptionally lucky, then they’ll also be linked to other cities that have passed these regulations and we can get the entire establishment dismantled.”

“That’s a lot less ass kicking than I got from your first spiel,” Bucky said quietly.

Tony chuckled, but there wasn’t much humor in it.

“But we’re assuming the laws are behind it,” Steve said as he put SHIELD’s file down to look around the table. “But what if the laws are reactionary to the protests? We could go in there and find that the politicians are just reacting to the fears of their constituents. Then we’ll be back at square one.”

“That’s terribly optimistic bordering on naive,” Tony drawled. “You’re betting that the politicians in Chicago aren’t corrupted?”

“I’m sure there are politicians in Chicago that are corrupt, don’t get me wrong,” Steve said a little on edge from Tony’s tone. “I’m just saying that we have to consider all of the evidence in front of us. That pattern that you were talking about? It’s only happened in five of the seven cities. Clearly, it doesn’t account for everything. Discrimination against witches and familiars is at an all-time high, and there are more widespread factors that influence social thought than the government.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Really? I shouldn’t be surprised you’re siding with the Feds on this one.”

“I’m not siding with anybody,” Steve said heatedly. “I just want to make sure we’re covering all of our bases. That we’re going with the facts, and not our personal feelings on the matter!”

“Who said anything about personal feelings?” Tony crossed his arms across his chest.

“It’s no secret that you’ve got a personal feud with the Magical Department in particular,” Steve said. “You called Alexander Pierce a greedy asshole on Twitter.”

“So what?” Tony said belligerently. “Just because the man runs a shitty department that’s been on my ass for breach of contract for five years does not mean I hate the government.”

“But what if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not wrong. Pierce is a greedy asshole who doesn’t know what the word ‘no’ means.”

Steve huffed out an impatient breath and plowed on, “I mean about the government being the reason for the protests.”

“I’m not wrong.”

“But what if you are? You can’t just ignore the facts, Tony!”

“I’m not ignoring them,” Tony said loudly, “Because I brought them to goddamn SHIELD in the first place!”

Natasha said in the ensuing silence, “Excuse me?”

Tony sighed. “I sent Fury that anonymous tip about HYDRA two days ago. I’ve had a running query on anything HYDRA related – a leftover paranoia from my old man, don’t worry about it – for years, and it finally picked something up a month ago.”

“A month ago?” Bucky spoke up, a vein ticking in his temple.

“I was trying to investigate,” Tony said over him, “But I didn’t have the resources or,” he lowered his voice, “the clear head to put it all together myself. So I brought SHIELD in. And you guys.”

“So you actually made the conscious decision to ask for our input?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Turns out hell does freeze over.”

Tony glowered at him. “I am sincerely regretting asking now, thanks very much.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, shaking his head in annoyance. “Now that you’re done playing keep away, can you please tell us exactly what you found?”

Tony glared. “I didn’t keep much from SHIELD. I decrypted some emails between an aide in the senator’s office in Cleveland to a secretary in Nashville. That’s it. It was congratulating him on his involvement in anti-magical activity in Tennessee. The aide signed off, Hail Hydra, which is their evil catchphrase. I looked into him, and now the aide’s vanished off the face of the Earth. Went missing two weeks ago – no facial recognition at the major airports, no hits on his bank account, nothing.”

“What did you turn up on the secretary in Nashville?” Natasha asked, leaning forward across the table. She swiped Tony’s map of Chicago away.

“Nothing. He’s squeaky clean,” Tony grumbled. “He works at a Familiar Relocation Organization.”

Bucky lifted his head at the name. He licked his lips, saying slowly, “I’ve heard of them. They’re all about sending familiars to farms, right?”

“Wait, like when Clint’s sister told his kids her cat went to live on a farm after he got hit by a car?” Natasha asked curiously.

Clint snorted, but let Bucky continue his explanation.

“No, actual farms,” Bucky said, “With cows and corn and shit. The goal was to move familiars and witches out of the cities to spread tolerance. Relocate them to places in the country where their neighbors might’ve never met a familiar before.”

“Is the secretary HYDRA?” Steve asked.

“No idea,” Tony sighed. “Our list of current known HYDRA associates is shocking low.”

“He means it doesn’t exist,” Bruce added as he pulled Tony’s phone towards him and squinted at it. He swiped a couple times at the screen. “Chicago looks like our best lead, though. They even have a branch of the Familiar Relocation Program there – their headquarters.”

“That’s not fishy,” Clint mumbled.

“No it’s not,” Bruce said, still tapping away at Tony’s phone. “According to their website, they have over sixty locations across the United States. If they’re keeping any information connected to HYDRA, though, I’d bet it’s in Chicago.”

Steve stared around the table and asked, “But what’s the connection between the Familiar Relocation Organization and the anti-magic incidents?”

“Beats me,” Tony said.

* * *

“Steve!”

Steve looked up to see Bucky holding his laptop, wet hair sticking every which way and feet bare, standing in his doorway. It was a sight Steve knew well and was very fond of; Bucky fresh from his post-gym shower. “What?”

Bucky dropped down next to him on his couch and shoved his laptop at him. “Here, I thought I’d heard of the Familiar Relocation Organization before, and not just because they send me annoying emails once a month about Kentucky’s booming bourbon distilleries.”

Steve’s eyes widened in surprise. “They send you emails?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said as he shoved his laptop closer to Steve’s face. “Most familiars get them. Mine go straight to spam. They sent mailings to the house too, before I moved out. But look, see? I knew I remembered them from something else –” He pointed to the screen, which was showing a PDF that they’d pulled and decrypted from their familiar trafficking case documents.

Steve’s mouth nearly dropped open as he read the document, which listed the names and destinations of a shipment of familiars from last year.  “Goddamn,” he breathed. He looked up at Bucky who seemed to be more concerned than smug about his discovery.

“I’m glad I never took them up on their offers,” he said darkly.

“Me too,” Steve said, reaching out to squeeze Bucky’s knee as if to reassure himself that he was really there. “Have you sent this to everyone else?”

“Yeah, Natasha and Tony want to move up our trip to Chicago to Thursday, but Bruce wanted to wait until we had more information. What do you want to do?”

Steve scanned the rest of the document. “What about these other leads? Should we follow up on them too if they’re connected? Why hasn’t SHIELD? They should’ve been suspended from operations due to an investigation down at least - or completely shut down. But look here,” Steve said as he copied a chunk of names and pasted them into Bucky’s web browser. “This says they’re still in business.”

“What the fuck?”

Steve pulled out his phone and texted Tony, _Do you know if Familiars First has been indicted?_

Tony’s reply came half a second later. _No? For what?_

_Aiding and abetting familiar trafficking_

_WTF?_

_They’re on a list of buyers of trafficked familiars. The Familiar Relocation Organization is on it too._

_No shit._

_So you haven’t heard anything from SHIELD about shutting them down? Or FRO?_

_NO._ Tony sent another message a split second later, _Wait Cap are you finally jumping on the government conspiracy bandwagon? You maverick._

_I’m looking at the facts, and the facts say that SHIELD is deliberately delaying prosecuting these traffickers, if not dropping everything altogether._

_Could be government bureaucracy at its finest._

Steve frowned at his phone, typing out, _You hate the Department of Magic. Why are you suddenly siding with them?_ as Bucky read Steve's conversation with Tony over his shoulder.

_To be contrary. I totally could believe that SHIELD is hiding something._

Steve bit his lip. _I_ _think they are._

Bucky laughed outright as a notification popped up on Steve’s calendar for an Avengers Emergency Meeting; Location: 104th floor; Time: Right Fucking Now; Will you accept Tony Maverick Stark’s Meeting Invitation?

Steve tapped the little green check mark to accept the meeting and shoved his phone in his pants. “You want to head up now?”

Steve waited for Bucky to finish getting dressed. They’d already lived together for a year and had countless sleepovers before that, so Bucky was hardly self-conscious about walking around Steve’s apartment without a shirt, shoes, or proper pants. The Avengers common areas were obviously another story.

When they got there the rest of the team was already seated. Lucky was noisily scarfing his dinner. Tony’s usual blue illusion charm was in full swing, this time showing a network of blue lines connecting the names of on Bucky’s list.

“Hey, Cap and Pongo! ‘Bout time you got here.”

“What’s that?” Steve asked as they took their seats.

“Everyone who got away pretty much Scott free from the trafficking ring,” Tony said grimly. He waved his hands, and several of the blue lines shone a bright red. “Those are shell companies. I’m still trying to track their financials – it’s tricky work to wade through the Cayman Islands – so they’re still pending if you want to get technical about it.”

“But the rest of them?” Steve asked.

“Have home bases in the US and didn’t even bother hiding their asses,” Tony said in disgust. He turned to Bucky. “Where the hell did you find this?”

“With the rest of the documents we discovered in Boston at that trafficking bust,” Bucky said calmly. “Steve told you.”

Tony frowned. “Weren’t those encrypted? Weren’t we supposed to send those off to SHIELD to deal with?” He gestured to his illusion still hovering over the table. “I was under the impression that the Avengers kick more ass than paperwork. I should know. I hate paperwork.”

Bucky swallowed. “I wanted to see where the familiars from the case went.”

Natasha leaned across the table, her eyes sharp as she studied Bucky closely. “And how did you get around the encryption?”

“Tony’s decryption spells?” Bucky answered.

“What?” Tony squawked.

Bucky frowned. “They’re not hard to find if you’re on the Avengers’ WiFi. Was that supposed to be a secret?”

“Not exactly, but don’t let Fury in here anyway,” Tony grumbled. “SHIELD doesn’t need access to my patented spells, thank you very much.”

Natasha sat back in her chair. “And why’d you copy these documents in the first place if we gave the originals to SHIELD?”

Bucky inhaled a slow breath and stared down at the table as he said, “I wanted to know if my family was anywhere on that list.”

Silence reigned for a full half-minute.

“Alright, you’d better explain,” Tony said first, his face uncharacteristically serious.

Bucky said, voice halting, “My family lives around Indianapolis, and I guess the best way to describe it is they have a sort of magical monopoly on the city. They’re the only magical family around, and they’re, uh, fairly wealthy. They have a bunch of businesses selling charmed objects to humans, and private health clinics offer magical healing tonics.”

“So they’re scam artists?” Clint asked, but there was no judgment in his voice. At Steve’s hard stare, he threw up his hands. “What? We did it in the circus all the time – sell some poor asshole a charmed trinket and tell him it’ll guarantee that he’ll be a lucky man at the booths and with his lady. Of course, the charm would cost more than any of the carnival prizes are worth and wear off hours before he goes home.”

But Bucky was already shaking his head. “No, all the non-magical people know that the magic is temporary. That’s why they sell it on a subscription service.” He wrung his hands as he continued, “And that’s why they all need familiars, so their spells last long enough for a subscription to be worth it. If I wasn’t going to Bond with anyone in New York before I turned eighteen, then they were going to ship me out there for one of my cousins.”

“Christ,” Clint muttered under his breath.

Steve stared at Bucky, eyes wide. “What the hell, Buck?” he hissed.

But Bucky shook his head. “Not now,” he said, voice strained.

“And were they on the list?” Natasha asked gently.

“No,” Bucky said quietly.

“Oh, well, that’s good then,” Tony said, clapping his hands. “Now that we’ve got the tragic family backstory out of the way, what do we do next?”

“Go to Chicago as planned,” Steve said firmly. “If civilians are going to be in danger, magical or not, we have to help them.”

“So we’ll just stay up all night until then, braiding each other’s hair and research all of these organizations’ connections to HYDRA?”

Natasha pursed her lips. “Looks like you’ve already gotten the party started, Stark. How long would that take?”

Tony smirked. “With SHIELD’s search spells? About a week.”

Natasha sighed. “And yours?” she asked flatly, going along wit his game and hating herself for it.

“About 12 hours.”

Clint sat forward in his chair. “So that’ll leave us 48 hours to plan the mission with all that extra information? And I know some of you work fast, but that’s going to be a real close call.”

Tony waved his hands in the air. “I’m a genius. I’ll figure it out.”

“I feel so comforted,” Natasha deadpanned.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair. “Do we need to investigate everyone else?”

“Probably,” Steve said as Tony pulled a face.

“Because FRO is the biggest familiar organization out there, especially in the South and Midwest, where most of the protests and rioting are happening,” Bucky continued. “I’d bet a lot of Tony’s money that all these other minor players,” he gestured to Tony’s glowing blue illusion that was still hovering above the table, “are connected to them somehow. If we can find FRO’s in, we’ll find the rest.” He shrugged. “I think we have enough information to go on, and we can always come back to this later. If they haven’t caught onto the fact that we’re onto them yet, I don’t think another couple of days or a week would hurt.”

“But if we go after FRO, won’t that spook them?” Steve asked.

Bucky bit his lip. “They’re not wild animals, Steve. It takes time to dismantle a whole business, and I think Tony can find anything incriminating that they delete if we catch them soon enough.”

“I can,” Tony confirmed.

“Between magic and the internet, nothing goes away forever anymore,” Bucky finished.

“Okay,” Steve said with a nod, “Then we’ll split up into two teams – Bruce, Tony, Natasha, and Clint on the governor’s office, and me and Buck on FRO.”

“Back up, Cap, why’re you giving commands?” Tony said in an accusatory tone of voice

“Because it’s a logical breakdown?” Steve offered with a weary shake of his head. “We have two targets, so we need two teams. The governor’s office in Chicago will have more security and is frankly the stronger lead. The RFO is a non-profit with no ties to HYDRA that we know of yet. It’s the best way to allocate our resources.”

“I don’t like it,” Tony said after a beat.

“Of course you don’t,” Bucky muttered under his breath.

“You should take Bruce,” Tony suggested. Next to him, Bruce tapped his fingers against the table, clearly thinking it over.

“Sorry?” Steve didn’t even bother hiding his surprise.

“We’re trying to be mostly covert, right?” Tony said impatiently. “Bruce will be a literal bull in a china shop if he comes with us – sorry big guy.”

Bruce shrugged, clearly not offended in the slightest.

“And I frankly don’t feel comfortable sending the two rookies in by themselves,” Tony continued. “And I know you two have a chip on your shoulders the size of Long Island, but even you can admit it won’t hurt to have an extra pair of eyes with you.”

“I guess not,” Steve said begrudgingly. “But don’t you need Bruce for your magic?”

“I’ll be fine,” Tony said breezily. “If everything goes right, we’ll be in and out with no fuss. They won’t even know we’re there.”

“And what’s the likelihood of that?” Clint muttered.

“Less than 4%” Natasha murmured back.

“You two are haters,” Tony declared loudly.

More squabbling and a pizza pie later, the Avengers had a rudimentary plan. Tony, Natasha, and Clint would go infiltrate the governor’s office while Steve, Bucky, and Bruce would hit the FRO offices. Both missions were strictly do-not-engage, intelligence gathering only. Tony promised to create some of his magical bugs to plant in important offices and undetectable file copiers to duplicate the information on the governor’s private server and the FRO’s top executive’s computer. They hashed out their entrance and exits with liberal input from Natasha, who had far more experience sneaking in and out of places than Steve had ever thought possible for one person.

* * *

After stewing on Bucky’s Indiana-bombshell for most of the night, Steve raised his fist to knock on Bucky’s door, shoulders held stiff with an iron resolve to figure out why the fuck Bucky never told him his parents had planned to basically send him off in an arranged Bonding in Indiana. His phone buzzed after he’d only knocked once, and he pulled it out of his pocket to read the text, which had come from Tony and simply said, _Lab 5 mins._

“What’s your aim like, Cap?” Tony asked apropos of nothing as the lab’s doors opened to admit Steve.

“Decent,” Steve said, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why?”

Tony held up what was unmistakably a circular metal shield, painted red, white, and blue. His eyebrows waggled invitingly. “Like it?”

“What the hell is that?” Steve asked flatly.

The shield drooped in his hands. “A shield, Legally Blonde.”

Steve sighed. “Yes, I get that. Why are you holding it?”

“I have no idea,” he said with a grin. Quick as a flash, Tony threw the shield to Steve. “Catch.”

“Christ,” Steve huffed as he reached out a hand to catch it. With his fingers upon the metal, the power contained underneath the cheap paint was unmistakable. The shield fairly thrummed in his grasp, a dizzying coordination of spells that only Tony could produce.

“Figured it was about time I made you some tech,” Tony said flippantly as he went back to stand behind the main table in his lab. He flung out his arm, his favorite blue illusion spell pouring from his fingertips to settle in diagrams for spells and blueprints for the governor’s office in Chicago.

“I don’t know – thank you,” Steve stuttered. “This is – just wow.”

Tony was silent for a moment. “Like I said, you were due for an upgrade.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve said sincerely.

A stiff silence fell between them, lingering just long enough for Steve to notice it before Tony naturally filled the air with chatter.

“Well then,” Tony said briskly, “There you go. It has every single shield spell known to man, and a couple I invented last night. There’s an accuracy spell or two I threw in there as well. I’ll show you how to cast them so you can renew them when they wear off the damn thing. With Barnes behind you, the current ones should last a couple of days at least. I know, I know, most spelled objects retain the magic for half a day at most, but you forget that you’re talking to the Avengers’ resident genius.”

Steve drawled, “I don’t think I’ve ever forgotten that.”

Tony coughed. “I mean, my cuffs once lasted a whole week, but that was a life or death thing so… if life or death, you should still be all set.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Steve shrugged a bit helplessly. “This is… unexpected.”

“But, uh, good unexpected?” Tony asked, half turned away from Steve so he could focus on what looked like the Chicago sewer system.

“Definitely.” He glanced down at the shield in his hands, running his fingers along the curved edge. “What’s with the bullseye paint job?” he asked after a beat. “Not very covert.”

“There’s a stealth mode,” Tony offered as he waved his hand over the star. The patriotic colors faded to a matte gunmetal grey. He waved his hand again, and the shield once again shone vibrantly. “Should be better camouflage, but don’t keep it like that all the time.”

“Why not?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You just convinced us that you’re not completely lame. Why go back on all that hard work?”

“Nobody else cares.” Steve tossed the shield from one hand to the other, testing its weight. “I’d think they’d be more concerned with not dying because one of their teammates is carrying a target on his back.”

“Everyone else is just too polite to say so,” Tony said. “But every hour is honesty hour with me, so take it up with the management if you can’t handle it.”

Steve couldn’t keep back his snort of disbelief. “Tony, if you’ve ever been one-hundred percent honest with anyone on the team, I’d eat this very nice shield you just made me.”

One corner of Tony’s mouth lifted into a half-smile. “Whatever you say, Cap.” He lifted his hand to clear away a section of the blue lettering hovering in front of his face.

“Think fast.” He fired a repulsor spell straight at Steve.

Steve instinctively raised the shield to cover his face. He recoiled back as the repulsor made contact, a spider web of light bouncing off into all directions from the direct hit to the star in the center. The glass walls surrounding them reverberated ominously.

Blood pumping in his ears and eyes widening incredulously, Steve demanded, “What the hell?”

“I needed to see if it worked,” Tony said innocently, already back to inspecting the floating text in the air.

Steve’s face slipped into its familiar almost-a-scowl whenever he was within 15 feet of Tony Stark. “You’re a jackass.”

“It’s been said,” Tony said mildly.

Steve grit his teeth and tried to calm his racing pulse. “So, what spells is this thing designed to hold? Specifically.” He dropped the shield on Tony’s lab table separating them.

Tony’s eyes gleamed as he started to explain.

* * *

Three hours passed before Steve could make his way back to Bucky’s room. After Tony had told Steve all about how he had spelled his shield, he insisted on some target practice. At the gym, they practiced shooting off Tony’s repulsors at Steve’s shield, with about 50-50 success since the repulsor’s accuracy boosters mostly cancelled out the shield’s evasive protections. When the clock inched towards nine in the morning, panting and more than a little sweaty, they called it quits.

Bucky answered the door on Steve’s fourth knock.

“My god,” he croaked. “What the hell are you doing up at this hour?” Voice obviously rough from sleep, Bucky absently scratched a spot on his bare chest as he stood aside to let Steve into his apartment

Steve did his best not to stare. Good thing Bucky was probably too tired to take note of anything Steve was doing. “It’s nine. We have an ongoing mission. Why are you sleeping in?”

“I was up late.”

“We broke up the meeting at eleven,” Steve said, frowning as his gaze caught on a plate with the remnants of egg yolk and toast which couldn’t have belonged to Bucky because he hated runny eggs and would only eat them scrambled or in omelets. He raised his eyebrows. “You had company? I hope you ran them by Tony’s head of security first. He’s pretty much a fanatic.”

Bucky bristled as he picked up the offending plate and began to viciously scrub at it in the sink. “Little early for your judgment, Steve.”

Steve held up his hands. “I’m not judging.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked scornfully. “Could’ve fooled me. I can have company over without your say-so.”

“I know you can,” Steve said shortly.

Bucky sighed. “What do you want?”

Steve shoved his hands in his pockets and jerked his head it the direction of the door. “I can come back later.” He indicated Bucky’s closed bedroom door with a sweep of his arm.

Bucky placed the now clean plate on the drying rack and picked up a nearby dishrag to wipe his hands. “She left.”

“Oh,” Steve said for lack of anything better to say.

“It wasn’t like that,” Bucky said wearily as he pulled out Steve’s favorite cereal and plucked a banana out of a bowl.

“Bucky,” Steve said, embarrassment creeping up his neck and cheeks. “It’s fine. If you want to date, or sleep with someone, it’s none of my – I shouldn’t barge in without calling or something.”

Bucky mustered a half-smile as he poured two bowls of cereal and handed Steve the banana. “You did knock first.”

Steve shook his head. “We don’t have to be connected at the hip anymore. It’s okay if you want to have a life outside of this,” he said, turning to survey his apartment and view from Avengers Tower.

“It was Nat. She stayed over.”

“Oh,” Steve said as he took the milk Bucky offered him next. “Not outside this, then.” He shoveled a large spoonful of cereal in his mouth. “That’s fine too.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “We just talked and researched for a couple of hours. That’s it.”

Steve swallowed around the lump in his throat. His spoon clattered around the bowl as the tried to pile on as much cereal as possible. “Good,” he said before cramming the dripping mass into his mouth.

“She also had some ties to the companies on that list I found,” Bucky said slowly, eyes trained on the contents of his bowl. “We talked about it.”

Steve’s skin crawled as Bucky’s words sank in. He would happily sink into the floor, teleport out of Bucky’s apartment, anything to be anywhere but here. He would leave, and Natasha could come back and talk to Bucky about Indiana and his shitty family. They could sit at the island over the hot breakfast that Bucky preferred, not cereal, and work through those issues that Bucky usually kept bottled up tight. Maybe Steve had scared her off, maybe she finally had a meaningful heart-to-heart with Bucky, and maybe, even though she didn’t scare easily at all, she realized what a great guy Bucky was and got spooked when Steve came knocking the first time and left. Steve couldn’t even blame her for that as he knew better than most that loving Bucky made you a little crazy, no matter how strong or smart you were.

“That’s good,” Steve said once his mouth was clear of breakfast. He scraped another spoonful together. There were some pieces of cereal still left floating, and normally he’d drink the rest of the milk at the bottom, but not today. “I’ll just let you get back to sleep then,” he said as he hopped off his stool and practically threw his bowl in Bucky’s sink on his way out.

“I’m up now, punk,” Bucky said.

“Great, maybe you can catch up with Natasha,” Steve said, unable to keep at twinge of the bitterness out of his voice.

Bucky frowned at him. He gave himself a little shake of the head before saying pointedly, “Banana?”

“It’s okay,” Steve said and he turned to leave.

Bucky caught him around the wrist. “Where are you going? Something on fire?”

Steve shook his head. “No, it’s nothing.”

“What’d you come here, anyway?” Bucky asked. He didn’t let go.

“It’s not important,” Steve dismissed with what he hoped was a casual toss of his head. Judging by Bucky’s disbelieving stare, he was not successful.

Bucky’s grip tightened. “What’s going on, Steve? Why’d you come over?”

Steve’s fist clenched and he wrenched his arm out of Bucky’s grip. “I was going to ask if you were alright after what came up yesterday, but it looks as if you’re fine now, so I’ll just be going.” He resolutely stepped back around the kitchen island, absolutely positive his expression radiated all of his hurt for the world to see. Not that Bucky would ever see that.

But Bucky caught up with him before he could reach the door. “Come on, Steve, you’re sore about that?”

“No,” Steve lied.

Bucky didn’t roll his eyes, but it looked like a near thing. “You’re so stupid. We can talk about if you want. It’s depressing and self-indulgent as hell… but if you want to.”

Steve hung his head. “If you don’t want to talk about it, then I’m not going to press you. I’m not your mother.”

“Thank god for that,” Bucky muttered under his breath as he steered Steve back to the couch. He snagged the banana from the island as they passed.

Steve tentatively sank down, eyes wide as Bucky settled in next to him. “Go on,” he said as he waggled the banana in Steve’s face. “Maybe you’re hungry and that’s why you’re acting like a moron.”

“I’m not a moron,” Steve said hotly.

Bucky tossed him the banana. “You’re a moron with low blood sugar, apparently, if you think that I would ever kick you out for checking in on me.”

“You didn’t kick me out,” Steve sighed. “I was going to leave.”

“Yeah, and then beat yourself up for ever thinking about asking me about it,” Bucky said shrewdly. “You and I both know it’d just come out eventually. I figure we’d spare ourselves the angst.”

“Okay.”

Bucky didn’t look particularly pleased with his decision to do the mature thing. “I – where should I start?”

“I don’t know, Buck, how about with the time your parents were ready to ship you out to Indiana if you became the magical equivalent of a spinster at eighteen?” Steve asked, not even bothering to hide his disdain.

Bucky flinched, and shame flooded Steve for letting his mouth run away from him.

“No,” Bucky said, reaching out to lay a hand for a brief second on Steve’s forearm, still holding the banana rather limply in his lap. “It’s fine – nothing I hadn’t thought about myself then, anyway,” he said with a brittle laugh. He looked up, gaze tentative even as his posture tensed like he was readying for a fight. “I didn’t want to let you know it got that bad.”

“Why not?” Steve asked, words slipping out before he could make them sound anything less than a desperate plea. “Friendship isn’t both of us having a shitty lot in life and only one of us getting help. You were there for me when I was at my lowest.”

“You couldn’t help me, Steve,” Bucky sighed.

Steve reeled back as if slapped. “Hey, if I knew what was going on-”

“Then I would have rejected your proposal to pity Bond right off the bat,” Bucky interrupted vehemently.

Steve’s temper flared, muddling his thoughts in an angry haze. “If you think for one fucking second that anything about our Bond was from pity–” Steve got that far before words failed him. Shaking his head fervently, he started again a half second later, “If anything, I would have gotten the pity Bond from you.” He glared across the couch at Bucky, who shook his head slowly.

“I know our Bond wasn’t out of pity on either of our ends,” he reassured.

Steve slumped back on the couch. “Why would you have rejected the Bond if I knew about what was going on with your family?”

“Why?” Bucky repeated, his voice going a little hysterical. “Because then you’d have tried to save me?”

“Well? Why is that such a bad thing?” Steve asked, genuinely perplexed. “If you needed help, you should’ve gotten it. End of fucking story.”

Bucky bowed his head, staring at the floor between his knees. “You saved me enough, Steve. I owe you enough. Believe me. You didn’t need to feel obliged to tie yourself to me for the rest of our lives.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Steve demanded.

Bucky sighed. “You looked up to me,” he said haltingly. “I know it, could see it every fucking day when we were kids. You didn’t have anyone else for years – just me – and I fucking didn’t know how I got so lucky.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, blinking at the ceiling as he sat up a little straighter. “Nobody ever treated me like that, like I was – goddamn it.” He cut himself off, swearing under his breath as he refused to meet Steve’s eye. “It was a real trip, alright? And I was just decent enough to know that I shouldn’t push you to a lifetime commitment because of a little hero worship. Because that shit wears off, and what would’ve happened when you decided I wasn’t worth it?”

“Hey,” Steve said gently, interrupting Bucky’s self-deprecating rambling. “It hasn’t worn off yet, doesn’t look like it’s ever going to, if that helps any.”

“Still, uh, for you?” Bucky asked, completely thrown.

Steve snorted. “Like I’d have been friends with someone as stupid as you for this long if I didn’t look up to you a little. Even when you’re being a complete jerk.”

Bucky mustered up the barest sliver of smile. “Same.”

Steve bit his lip, thinking. “That’s it? You didn’t want to appear – I don’t know – weak or something? You’d thought I’d think less of you if I knew that your family were a bunch of elitist witches?”

Bucky’s silence was enough.

“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” Steve said loudly, ignoring the hurt flash in Bucky’s eyes. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have spent years questioning why you made me as your best friend in the first place.”

“Excuse me?”

Steve shrugged. “Come on, you gotta know what everyone was saying behind our backs. Nobody understood why you wanted to hang out with me back then. Ma didn’t even get it until she met you.”

Bucky snorted. “What a pair we made, a familiar with an inferiority complex the size of the Empire State and a witch who picked fights instead of friends.”

Steve leaned back against the couch. “You – you don’t still think that, right?” he asked hesitantly.

“About you or me?”

Steve didn’t answer for a moment. “Both.”

“No,” Bucky said pensively. “Sometimes, yeah, I think we might occasionally relapse – when Tony really gets under your skin or that time with the first trafficking case, but it’s not nearly as bad as before.”

Steve nodded to himself. “Good.”

Bucky chewed on his lip, darting glances at Steve, who finally got around to peeling that damn banana in his hands and was doing his best not to fidget under the weight of Bucky’s gaze. “But then we got Commandos. You had plenty of friends, just took a little while. Even got the girl of your dreams. Why did you choose me over her? She probably didn’t have nearly this many fucking issues.”

“I was waiting for you,” Steve said honestly. “When we were thirteen you promised-”

Bucky interrupted, “We were kids.”

“Yes, but I knew,” Steve broke off as he tried to say anything but the truth. “I, uh, knew that you’d be a good Bondmate,” he said lamely.

Bucky didn’t buy his explanation, if his narrowed eyes meant anything. “I’m calling bullshit on that one, Steve,” he said patiently. “That makes a great story to tell at cocktail parties, but there’s no way that’s really why you honored that promise you made ten years ago.”

“Maybe I just have that much integrity as a person, you ever think that?”

“Sure,” Bucky said warily as Steve took a large bite of banana. “But you’re also practical to a fault and I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – kids are little shits. You can’t trust a word out of their mouths.”

“I was extremely trustworthy,” Steve said quickly.

Bucky snorted. “I sure wasn’t. I was as bad as the rest of them.”

“No, you weren’t,” Steve said firmly.

Bucky threw him a concerned look. “And then you go ahead and say shit like that, and I think ‘well gee, maybe my best friend isn’t as smart as I think he is. Maybe he’s still blinded by the sun that he thinks shines outta my ass.’” He ignored the gagging sounds coming from Steve choking on banana. “You and I both know I was a normal, terrible kid. I ditched babysitting my sisters to drag you on adventures all over the city. I didn’t stop you from getting into fights. I made you sit through all of those stupid car movies with me.”

“Hey, that was actually a good idea,” Steve interjected. “I had one of my first civil conversations Tony about one of his cars, and the only reason I knew the model was from those ridiculous movies.”

“They were beyond stupid.”

“Overall, seven hours of my life I’ll never get back,” Steve said diplomatically.

Bucky smiled slowly and kicked Steve lightly with his foot. “Come on, Steve. This doesn’t have to be some big secret, but I’m starting to think it is since you keep moving away from it.”

Steve sighed. “You won’t accept that I just wanted to Bond with you?”

“Not good enough.”

“And you’re sure that’s not the inferiority complex speaking?” Steve said, head bowed as he focused on carefully peeled back more banana peel. “You’re it for me, Buck. There doesn’t have to be a specific reason for it.”

When he looked up, Bucky was shaking his head. “You’re lying. Or hiding something.”

“I’m not.”

Steve could have tried harder to convince Bucky, but he’d always been a crap liar. He could count the number of times he’s successfully pulled the wool over Bucky’s eyes on one hand.

Bucky let out a long-suffering sigh. “Look, it’s not a big deal-”

“Clearly it is to you,” Steve rolled his eyes. “But I don’t know what you want me to say. I just knew you were my best choice. We just fit, okay?”

“No, not okay,” Bucky pressed as he ran a hand through his hair. “I was not your best choice – you and I knew both knew that then.”

“I fucking did not,” Steve said sharply.

“But Peggy-”

“Why do you keep comparing yourself to her? I never even considered asking Peggy to Bond with me,” Steve said, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “I’ve told you a million times – Why won’t you let this go?”

“Why won’t you just tell me?” Bucky demanded, the barest hint of steel in his tone, and Steve had never resented Bucky’s stubbornness more.

Steve stood up.

Bucky stood up too, raising a hand to Steve’s chest keep Steve in his place. “Never knew you to run from a fight,” he said quietly.

“Is this what this is?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised.

“Doesn’t have to be,” Bucky said with a shrug. “If you just-”

Steve was going to shove past Bucky, get out of there to regroup and come up with some sort of contingency plan to explain why this morning had gone so pear shaped, but instead he caught sight of Bucky’s determined face, the furrow between his eyebrows with Tony’s awe-inspiring view of the concrete jungle behind him. And like a careening car crash, Steve couldn’t help but watch with a sort of second-hand horror and first-hand exhilaration as he pulled Bucky towards him instead of pushing him away and brought their mouths together.

* * *

Pulse racing, head spinning, ears ringing, Steve knees almost buckled beneath him as Bucky’s lips started moving against his own. Bucky’s mouth opened slightly to let out a harsh pant for air, and at the near moan, Steve’s brain must’ve short circuited. When he came to, Bucky stared at him for a half second before his eyes darted down to the white mush that had splattered onto his pants and the floor.

“It’s banana!” was the first thing out of Steve’s mouth.

Bucky cracked up.

“I – uh – must’ve lost control,” Steve muttered as he glowered at the decimated banana coating his fingers. “Didn’t mean to do that.”

“I didn’t think you did,” Bucky said with a wide smile as he led Steve back into the kitchen and traded him a paper towel for the now empty banana peel.

Steve wiped half-heartedly at his pants. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“What for?” Bucky asked as he leaned against the kitchen island, smirking at him. “It’s not the first time I’ve made a guy… pop the banana prematurely.”

Steve blushed to the roots of his hair. “That’s a terrible euphemism.”

“it’s not even my first time with a banana,” Bucky said with an idle wave of his hand.

Steve’s eyebrows rose. “You’ve fucked a banana?”

Bucky threw him a disbelieving look. “It’s lucky you’re so damn handsome, since the whole brains thing clearly isn’t working out for you. No I did not fuck a banana, you dimwit.” He sighed as Steve continued to look perplex, going a bit pink around his cheeks. “Foreplay, teasing really. It involved some fruit. Once.”

“Ah,” Steve said, throat too dry to say much else. The bombardment of backhanded compliments and images of Bucky sucking down a banana sent all his blood southward at a dizzying speed.

“Look,” Bucky said, his smile dimming. “It’s okay. I know it’s all new for you. We, uh, don’t have to talk about it. I can give you time.”

“What for?” Steve asked as he took a step closer.

“For you to sort yourself out,” Bucky said as he gestured to Steve with a sweep of his arm.

“I – uh, right.” Steve quickly skirted back, away from Bucky, repeating, “Sort myself out.” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to gather his bearings. He futilely kept his expression frozen, even though Bucky could read him like a book. At least he had given Steve an out; told Steve to take some time for himself and get over any unwanted feelings. He mustered a smile that felt more like a rictus grin.

Bucky nodded right back, crossing his arms across his chest.

Steve spun on his heel, not trusting himself to say anything else, and probably broke speed walking records as he hurled himself desperately at towards door out of Bucky’s apartment.

In the hallway, Steve let out a low breath as he made his way back to his place. He couldn’t help but touching his mouth as he sat at the edge of his bed, staring into nothing.

The chirp of his cellphone called him out of his dazed reverie some time later. He had to read Tony’s text three times before he registered that Tony was asking if he wanted to test the shield some more, get some decent mileage out of it before they had to fly to Chicago in two days.

Steve had never been so thankful that Tony could provide a good distraction in his life. Every time Tony showed signs of slowing down or taking a break, Steve could prompt him with a question or two, and they’d be off for another twenty minutes. He kept Steve occupied well into the afternoon until Pepper called him five times in a row to tell him to eat and sign papers.

Heart sinking in his chest, Steve made his way up to the Avengers floors. He didn’t have any food left in his fridge; the only editable item left was protein powder and milk, and Steve couldn’t think of a more depressing lunch than sitting alone at his table drinking the chalky shake and replaying his morning with Bucky for the umpteenth time.

Steve paused as he exited the elevator onto the common floor. Bruce was pouring over some documents at the table, taking distracted bites of a sandwich with a free hand. Clint sat next to him, Lucky at his feet. Steve’s breath stuttered in his chest as he saw Natasha and Bucky huddled on the far end of the couch, heads bent together, deep in discussion.

He ignored them, and instead made his way to the fridge, pulling out cold cuts and cheese. Thankfully Bruce or Clint had left the bread and non-perishables for sandwiches out on the counter, pushed back towards the wall and out of doggy reach. Lucky wined from underneath the table, tail swishing rhythmically across the floor in anticipation.

Armed with his sandwich, he took an empty seat next to Bruce, who automatically pushed some of their papers out of the way to make room.

They stayed that way for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening as he and Bruce went over their entry and exit plans for their upcoming mission. Normally Steve would’ve called Bucky in so he could have been debriefed as well, but the very thought made his insides squirm with discomfort, and besides, he couldn’t really afford the distraction. The place where he harbored his feelings for Bucky was raw, and why bring that further to the surface when he had other more important things to deal with. As Bucky told him, he had some time to figure it all out.

* * *

Steve managed to avoid Bucky until a half hour before liftoff. They awkwardly exchanged greetings as they met outside their apartments. The night before, Steve had turned in early, head thrumming with too much information.

“Did Bruce tell you about the changes we made yesterday?” Steve asked after an excruciating minute of silence in the cramped elevator on their way up to the quinjet pad located on the roof of Avengers Tower. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared straight ahead, resisting the urge to fidget under Bucky’s steady gaze.

“Yeah, he told me,” Bucky said shortly. “I get it.”

“Good.”

The elevator slowed to a stop. Feeling distinctly off-balance, Steve stepped out, squinting against the bright flood lights that lined the roof. The wind whipped around the landing, and behind him, Bucky swiped his hair out of his eyes impatiently. Natasha was already standing by the door of the quinjet, speaking with a technician in a loud voice, which was still nearly lost in the noise of the engines. Steve spotted Bruce lurking just inside, and he ducked through the door past Natasha, Bucky on his heels. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“We’re just waiting on Tony,” Bruce explained. Behind him, Clint gave them a solemn wave. “Then we’ll take off. Hopefully he’s not going to be fashionably late.”

Tony arrived five minutes later, grumbling and nursing a giant thermos of coffee that he grudgingly shared with the rest of the team as they took off, except Natasha, who was on pilot duty while they got out of the city limits.

They rode in tense silence as Steve poured over the Familiar Relocation Organization documents for the twentieth time in two days, still searching for more concrete ties to HYDRA than that one email or any connection the anti-magic riots. Spreadsheets of financials, background checks on higher ups, and nothing jumped out at Steve. When the papers started to shake and blur in front of his eyes, he put them down with a high. He sat back in his seat, turning his head to see Clint and Tony poring over yet another blueprint of the governor’s office. Bruce appeared to be dozing in the co-pilot seat next to Natasha.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice cut through the mindless buzzing in Steve’s head.

Steve turned, silently bracing himself for whatever Bucky wanted from him. Steve could talk about the mission until he was blue in the face, and nearly did with Bruce the evening before. If Bucky was calling him over to talk about what went on in his apartment yesterday morning, then Steve was shit out of luck because he’d barely gotten into the denial stage; repression was still a little ways off.

“Yeah?”

Bucky walked over to sit across from Steve in the middle of the quinjet. He cast a wary glance towards the cockpit, where Natasha was talking quietly at Bruce, and towards the rear where Clint and Tony were arguing loudly about vectors and accuracy spells. “I know I said I’d give you time,” he began, staring down at his hands. “But I have no idea how much time you’d need, so I just wanted to let you know that I’d respect your choice.”

“What choice?” Steve asked bitterly before he could stop himself.

Bucky’s head jerked up to stare at him, his eyes wide. “I don’t know, Steve! You’re the one who kissed me.”

“I am well aware of that, Buck,” Steve said stonily.

Bucky inhaled sharply, eyes closed. “If you want to pretend that it never happened, I’d appreciate knowing that now,” he said, his voice stiff as his rigid posture.

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “If that’s what you want,” he said evenly.

Bucky let out a quiet groan before he could rein it in. “Forget me. What do you want?”

“I want to know what you want.”

Bucky grumbled something under his breath probably not all too flattering to Steve. “You are impossible. You kissed me. You gotta tell me what that means,” he said after a moment.

“It means what kisses usually mean,” Steve said, unable to meet Bucky’s gaze. “I know you’ve kissed enough people and haven’t had this much trouble figuring it out.”

Bucky snorted. “Trust you to make everything difficult.” He narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t, uh, part of your big gay revelation? You don’t look that conflicted.”

Steve actually laughed at that, and Bucky nearly drew back in alarm. “I’m not having a big gay revelation.”

“You’re not?” Bucky asked, expression conflicted. “I – you’re sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Oh.”

“So you’re not into guys?”

“I didn’t say that.”

_“Oh.”_

Steve ran a hand down his face. He inhaled a deep breath. “I’ve known I was into you for years.”

Bucky’s mouth fell open. “What the fuck?”

Steve looked down, blush blooming spectacularly on his face. There was no point in holding back now. “I’ve wanted to be with you in, um, that way since high school.”

Bucky swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. He blinked at Steve a couple of times, eyes never leaving Steve’s face, roving up and down and all around to take him all in at once.

“Right,” Steve continued awkwardly. “So if you, um, don’t want that, I can keep giving you space. It’s a lot, I know, so no pressure to make any spur of the moment decisions-”

Bucky cut him off with a swift kiss to the mouth, and Steve went lightheaded.

“My god,” Bucky breathed in Steve’s space as he pulled minutely away. “Spur of the moment? You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.” He smiled, big and wide, and Steve felt himself return it without conscious thought. Warmth infused his insides, and he would’ve floated from his seat if Bucky hadn’t seized his hands in his in a crushing grip like he was worried Steve might soar away too.

And then Tony’s voice cut through their moment like a repulsor beam. “Woah, check out the make out session in the back!”

All heads swiveled to stare at them.

Natasha was grinning. “You are a dick, Tony Stark,” she called. “Can’t you tell you interrupted something?”

“What?”

Natasha turned back to face the front of the plane, muttering to herself.

Clint gave them a thumbs up behind Tony’s back.

Bruce glanced at them. “Is this going to affect the mission?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“No,” Steve said firmly.

“Then congratulations,” Bruce said warmly.

“About time,” Tony muttered. “Even I could tell man’s best friend was not happy being man’s best friend.”

“Shut up, Tony,” Natasha called over her shoulder, not even bothering to turn around.

Steve threw Tony the finger and turned back to Bucky, whose happiness hadn’t dimmed in the slightest during the interruption. He pulled Bucky towards him again, cradling his jaw in his hand. Steve couldn’t help grinning against Bucky’s mouth, kiss almost dissolving into disbelieving laughter that he was actually allowed to do this. He felt Bucky smile right back, the kiss losing traction as they broke away.

Steve’s other hand tightened around Bucky’s. “You okay?” he murmured.

“Pal, I’ve never been more okay in my life,” Bucky said, eyes bright.

“Good.”

Steve kissed him again, properly this time. Surged forward to capture Bucky’s mouth with his own, slid his hand up Bucky’s jaw around the back of his head to tangle in his hair. Bucky’s breath was hot in his mouth, his breathing ragged as he sucked in a greedy breath through his nose to give as good as he got. He somehow got both his hands around Steve’s waist, fingers digging in so Steve could feel his grip despite the durable fabric of his uniform.

“Hate to break up the fun, fellas, but we’re landing in fifteen,” Natasha said from above them. She had her arms crossed across her chest, but her expression was remorseful.

“I – of course,” Steve said, running a hand through his hair distractedly as he tried to get his bearings. “We’ll be ready in ten.”

“You might,” Bucky said darkly as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, hips wiggling and face flushing.

Steve laughed and clapped a hand to his shoulder. “I’d give you a hand, but I don’t think we have the time.”

“Clearly you underestimate me,” Bucky muttered with a sigh. “There’s a bathroom on this thing, right?”

“I’m not giving you a hand job in the bathroom,” Steve hissed, scandalized.

“Who said anything about hands?” Bucky asked innocently.

“I – Buck!”

Snickering, Bucky got up with one last lingering look and went to talk with Bruce.

They landed on top of one of Tony’s buildings in the Loop, a huge glass skyscraper that looked much like the one they left back in New York City. At least this one didn’t have Stark’s name emblazoned on the top, and stood nearly indistinguishable amongst the other hundred-plus story buildings in downtown Chicago.

They broke up on the street, climbing into two separate SUVs that would take them to their distinct targets. Tony, Clint, and Natasha headed east towards the governor’s Chicago office, and Steve, Bucky, and Bruce drove south towards River West, and the RFO offices.

* * *

Flush with victory, Steve touched the magical radio in his ear to boost the signal all the way to the street where Bruce was sitting in the car, monitoring their position and following their progress through hacked security cams and a scrying spell. “CEO’s computer is compromised – we’re in.” He checked the USB drive for the second time. It was still locked in the tower beneath the desk.

“Great,” Bruce muttered distractedly in his ear.

By the door, Bucky wagged his tail once.

“What’re you seeing?”

“Well, there aren’t any folders marked HYDRA.”

“Anything suspicious?”

“No?”

Bucky transformed halfway to Steve, using the CEO’s mahogany desk to straighten up and peer at the screen next to Steve.

“You should be watching the door,” Steve chastised half-heartedly.

Bucky shook his head. “You’re useless,” he said as he elbowed Steve aside. “Grandpa with a smart phone, that’s you. Always have to do things the old-fashioned way. Come on,” he said as he waved his hands over the keyboard, and the keys started pressing down of their own accord. The screen went black, and stark white text appeared, all computer gibberish to Steve. It evidently made sense to Bucky, who smirked as he let the computer run for a moment. “Tony’s decryption spells. It’ll look for anything encrypted and crack it for us.”

“Do we have time for that?” Steve asked anxiously as he strained to hear anyone approaching. Apart from the lone security guard that they knocked out before he could get a good look at them, they hadn’t seen a soul in the whole building.

“Last time with that list Tony was trying to decrypt the files of fifty-seven companies,” Bucky snorted. “This will only look for documents on RFO’s internal servers. Stuff exchanged between the CEO and CFO, or,” he squinted at the screen, grinning as he finished eagerly, “between the CEO and that secretary in Nashville.”

“Amazing,” Steve marveled, clapping Bucky on the back. He hesitated for a moment before leaning down to kiss Bucky on the cheek.

Bucky froze. “I – yeah. Amazing,” he echoed, sounding a little breathless.

Steve snickered and raised a hand to his ear. “How’re we doing Bruce?”

“Okay,” Bruce said calmly. “Nobody coming from what I can see. You might have time to hit up the CFO as well. Financials can tell us a lot as well. Especially since we only have what they gave to the IRS.”

“Yeah, they probably wouldn’t disclose familiar trafficking on their W2s,” Bucky muttered.

“Who know what they didn’t disclose,” Steve said grimly. “How much longer here?”

“A couple more minutes. How ever will we pass the time?” he purred, sidling closer to Steve.

Bruce said dryly in their ears, “Twiddling your thumbs, I hope.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“No funny business, Buck,” Steve said, aiming for stern and probably missing by a mile based on Bucky’s answering smirk. “We’ll search the office.”

Bucky sighed as he looked through the books lining the bookshelf on the far wall with names like _Familiar Role Development_ and _Handbook of Familiar Health: A Guide to Optimal Outcomes._ “Bet this didn’t win the Pulitzer,” he said sourly as he held up _Familiar Magic and Abilities: More than Assistants._ “Oh look, it’s written by a witch. Wouldn’t have guessed that.”

Steve finished rifling through the files on the desk next to the computer. He crouched down, opening the desk drawers, sighing with disappointment as he only found highlighters, tape, and various receipts from the past month. He dropped to all fours and cast an illuminating charm. The dim ball of light hovered above his palm before settling underneath the desk as Steve searched for any hidden items, any disruption in the carpet. A reflective glint caught his eye, a laminated sleeve half wedged under the back of the desk. Steve pulled the keycard free, frowning as the black design fully caught the light. Red lettering spelled the CEO’s name and a room number that Steve didn’t recognize.

“Hey look.” Steve straightened and held it out.

Bucky walked over, bemused. “Those are HYDRA colors.”

“Might be a coincidence,” Steve said, although he didn’t quite believe his own words.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Always looking for the best in people, that’s you. It’s not like they would stamp their logo on everything they ever touched.”

“They’re not Tony Stark,” Steve agreed.

They heard Bruce wheeze a stifled laugh through their coms link.

“Hey,” Bucky said as he tilted it to get a better look. An iridescent sheen caught the light, and Bucky smirked as he waggled it in front of Steve’s face. “It does have the logo. Will you look at that?”

Steve ran his finger along the near invisible legs of the octopus. “Right, so tracing charm?”

“Tracing charm,” Bucky confirmed with a nod.

Steve waved his hands over the card, pulling his magic to the surface and letting it surround the card in Bucky’s hand. It glowed a faint blue, and a line illuminated its path back underneath the desk where Steve had found it. He swallowed as he watched the path show more of the card’s journey, all around the office where the CEO had carried it, until it led out of the door and down the hallway.

Bucky scanned the computer screen, grabbed the USB stick, and powered down the computer. He stuck the USB in Steve’s back pocket on his way past with a wink. They followed the blue light into the elevator. Steve shared a determined look with Bucky as the light disappeared into a key slot by the floor buttons. As soon as the card went in, the elevator shuddered into movement. Used to the smooth rides in Avengers Tower, Steve braced himself, but after the initial shock, the elevator descended more easily, past the first floor, past the basement level.

“Always gotta keep the shady stuff in the basement,” Bucky sighed.

Steve raised his shield as the elevator doors opened.

Evidently no one on the lower levels went home at five like normal employees.

“Intruders!”

Steve had a split second to take in the dozen lab techs, the magic-enforced cages of familiars wearing half dazed, half terrified expressions that Steve recognized all too well, and the walls filled with computer screens bearing diagrams of experimental spells. Shield raised high, Steve ducked for cover behind the security desk after Bucky took out the guard with a quick knock out spell. He pushed his crouch a little higher, squinting at the far wall. Steve didn’t have a lot of experience with blood magic apart from his Bonding, but he could recognize it well enough.

“They’re using blood magic, Buck,” he muttered.

“Goddammit.”

Steve gestured to the servers on the back wall. “Come on, we should copy these computers too.”

They began moving forward, firing off knockout spells at anything that moved. The lab techs were scrambling, some for the emergency exit and others for the nearest keyboards. They ignored the locked-up familiars.

Bucky did not. He pulled at Steve’s magic as he threw their combined power against the magical locks holding them in. With a screech, the cages unlocked and the familiars streamed out, nearly tripping over themselves in their haste to the exit.

Steve shouted, “We can’t let them escape.” He threw his shield to Bucky. “Protect them. We need witnesses! I can put up my own shields.”

Bucky opened his mouth to argue, but something about Steve’s determined expression sent him running towards where the familiars had bottlenecked the exits after the first couple lab techs.

Steve slid the USB from his pocket to basement computer mainframe and preformed the same spell he’d seen Bucky do earlier on the CEO’s computer and let it run. He ran a hand through his hair as he turned back around to survey the scene. Most of the lab techs had disappeared or were slumped over unconscious from their initial ambush. A presence prickled at the edge of Steve’s senses, and he whirled around to advance upon a tech, a squat middle-aged man with circular glasses sliding down his sweaty nose. He was mumbling to himself, and Steve almost instinctively drew back as he felt the power the man was pulling in.

Steve slammed him up against the wall with his magic, hands splayed out to prevent any gestures, and pressure against his throat to stop the casting. The man choked, gurgling out a couple more words of the spell.

The power went out.

“Fuck,” Steve muttered over the spike in voices by the exits where Bucky was presumably corralling the familiars. “Buck, you alright?” he called.

“We’re good,” Bucky answered as he sent up an illuminating charm, casting everything in the room with an eerie silver glow.

Like a miniature moon, the light hovered in the middle of the room, and Steve could see Bucky’s not-quite-panicked gaze stare back at him. Steve turned back to the man pinned to the wall. Eyes hard, he reached out for Bucky’s magic for support, and cast the most powerful truth spell he knew, the one that Natasha taught him his second week with the Avengers. “What are you doing?”

The man’s face went purple, and Steve eased off the pressure on his throat. He sucked in a greedy breath, and mouth stretched wide in a Cheshire grin, finished the spell before Steve could cut off his air supply. “Hail Hydra,” he breathed.

The foundations beneath their feet rumbled, and Steve ran for Bucky. Halfway across the room, he heard an enormous crash.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded.

“I think it’s the elevator,” Bucky said, worry etched into the furrow between his eyebrows. He threw his arm out, and the elevator doors sprang open to reveal an empty shaft. Just beneath floor level lay the remains of the elevator, having fallen from several stories and smashed to bits.

The floor shook again, and a terrible crashing noise came from above. Steve turned on his heel to face the HYRDA agent, who was barely conscious, a deeply smug look fixed all over his features. “Why are you still breathing?” Steve demanded as he called back the USB from the mainframe wave of his hand and threw out a gagging spell.

“HYDRA’s secrets will not leave this room!”

The spell hit, a little harder than Steve intended, and the man was thrown back with the force of it, his head cracking against the wall. He pocked the USB and turned back to Bucky, unconcerned.

Bucky’s whole body jerked oddly. “I don’t think I want to know what that means,” he said grimly as dust belched out from the cracked doorway to the emergency exit. He covered his mouth and nose with his hand and opened the door wider, nearly stumbling back as another round of ruined concrete steps rained down. He shut it quickly and more thumps sounded against the door.

“So we’re trapped,” Steve said, aiming for a conversational tone and missing by a mile.

“Looks like,” Bucky responded in kind. He squinted at the elevator shaft. “That’s our only way out. Come on.” He raised a hand to his head, an almost surprised look coming over his face as he wiped away a sheen of sweat.

Steve’s alarm ratcheted up. “You okay?”

“I think so?” Bucky didn’t sound all too sure.

Steve reached out to grip Bucky’s arm. “What’s wrong?”

Bucky glanced over at the finally unconscious HYDRA agent. The one who had started this mess. “Nothing. Feeling funny.” He rubbed at his sternum, his breathing a little labored.

Behind them the familiars showed similar symptoms.

“How funny?” Steve demanded.

Bucky’s mouth opened, but he shut it with an audible snap. “Not funny at all. We’ve got more important-”

The ceiling groaned and a fissure appeared in the far corner, spreading outwards at alarming rate.

“Okay, we can get everyone out,” Steve said as he waved his hand to gesture the familiars forward. “We can raise them up through the shaft.”

“You first,” Bucky said, holding out a hand to keep them back. He swallowed and raised a hand to brace himself against the wall. He was shaking.

“Buck-”

Behind them the familiars had started murmuring, one wailing in a foreign tongue before being cut off. Pained yowling took its place.

Bucky shook his head firmly. “No, you can guide them out. They need someone up there to show them the way. I’ll stay down here.”

“Buck-” Steve interrupted again.

Another familiar transformed. The light of Bucky’s illuminating charm reflected off the iridescent snake scales. Some of the other familiars drew back as the hissing started.

Bucky gasped, nearly bent double, before he straightened. “No, Steve,” he said as he all but shoved him into the elevator shaft, using the shield to herd him inside. “You’ve got to go first. I love you.”

The twisted metal of the elevator ceiling buckled a little beneath his weight, and Steve stumbled getting his bearings. Bucky seized the distraction, pulling on Steve’s magic as he dropped to a crouch. He amplified the shield spells already in place, creating an invisible barrier that pushed him upwards.

Before his view was cut off, Steve saw Bucky give a full-body shudder and drop to all fours, fur sprouting over clothes and hands shrinking into paws.

Steve let out a shout that bounced around the empty shaft. Bucky didn’t answer.

The shield barrier cut off as Steve reached the first floor and he jumped for it, stomach dropping below his feet as his support fell away. Feet dangling, he got a leg up and crawled onto the tiny landing barely four inches wide. He waved his hand to open the doors but nothing happened. He murmured the unlocking spell again. They didn’t jump apart; they didn’t even shift.

Heart thumping in his chest, Steve nearly toppled backwards as he wedged his fingers in the crack of the doors and manually pried them open.

Had had gotten one foot through before the entire building lurched. One of the elevator doors slid back closed. The lobby, already partially demolished with felled columns and pieces of fallen ceiling, was covered in a layer of plaster dust. A column rolled.

“Steve?”

He whirled around before he realized it was Bruce’s voice in his ear.

“Bruce?”

“Thank god. What happened in there? You got cut off twenty minutes ago – I couldn’t get you back.”

Steve kneeled at the elevator doors and peered down into the darkness. There was no sign of Bucky or his illuminating charm. “Bucky and I went down into the basement. They must’ve had wards to prevent communication.”

Bruce’s voice was calm in his ear. “You’ve got to get out of there.”

“But Bucky-”

“I have no idea what’s happening, but the whole block’s about to go down. You have to leave, now.”

“Not without him!”

Steve reached down, but his illuminating charm was barely lighter than a night light and only travelled a few feet before winking out of existence.

“Steve-”

“No Bruce,” Steve said, voice breaking. “He’s still down there. I can’t leave him.”

“Steve, we can come back later. You’re no help if you get crushed too.”

“He’s not crushed down there!”

“Fine,” Bruce said patiently. “But Steve-“

He didn’t hear the rest of what he was saying as the building rattled again and he nearly lost his footing and tumbled back down the shaft. He was sent sprawling on his ass, feet splayed and hands scrambling for purchase as the floor shuddered.

He let out a panicked yelp as arms encircled his torso and hauled him to his feet. He spun around, nearly going dizzy with relief as he recognized Bruce’s face, pinched and worried. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

Bruce’s words hit him like a bucket of cold water to the face. “No-”

“I’m not making this into a suicide mission,” Bruce said darkly as he began bodily dragging Steve out, dodging pieces of ceiling that continued to fall. He jumped out of the way of a steel beam that threatened to flatten them. Steve sent up a shield spell, and was nearly knocked breathless by a piece of plaster the size of a frying pan that hit him square on the head.

“Bucky wouldn’t want you to die here too.”

“He’s not _dead-”_ Steve sucked in a lungful of air as they broke through the already shattered sliding doors onto the street. Behind them, the building continued to shake until it imploded from the inside. He dimly heard the El train trundle above them, and the usual sounds of city life carrying on as normal.

Steve’s heart shriveled in his chest. Only Bruce’s firm grip on his arm kept him from leaping back into the rubble and tearing it apart with his bare hands to search for his other half.


	4. Part IV

“That’ll be $31.49,” Sam said with a smile as he started bagging up Steve’s purchases.

Steve came back to the present like a diver coming back up for air. He blinked, drawing his gaze from the out-of-focus shelves of Sam’s general store. The neatly stacked boxes of pasta, the shelves of canned goods, and the freezer of cheese and meats mocked him in their clean-cut organization. “I – thanks,” Steve said after a minute and handed over his card.

“You okay?” Sam asked, eyes going wide as he seemed to catch himself. He bit his lip.

“I – sure, I’m fine,” Steve stumbled.

Sam didn’t look convinced. “Look, we’re all up in each other’s business,” he said, his kind smile returning twofold. “Not much else to do up here.” He gestured out of the window, where snow was piling four-inches deep in the driveway and the woods on either side of the highway beyond. “It’s too quiet, isn’t it?”

Steve let out a dry chuckle. “What’s that?”

“Up here, it’s too quiet,” Sam said with a shake of his head. “Used to freak me out when I first moved. I’d hear a twig snap, and jump about a foot in the air.”

Steve nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Sam finished bagging up Steve’s groceries. “You get used to it.”

“Really?”

“Sure,” Sam said. “You’ve been coming around here, what, a month or two? Six months from now you’ll be a mountain man like the rest of us.”

Steve snorted. “I’ll be fighting off bears in no time.”

Sam made a tutting sound as he began herding Steve’s bags to his side of the counter. “Better call in backup if that happens. Don’t deal with bears on your own.”

“And you’re backup, I take it?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised.

Sam nodded proudly. “You ever held a gun, city-boy?”

Steve ignored the sharp stab of pain at Sam’s question. “Never needed to, before,” he murmured. He looked up at Sam’s wide open face. “Have you?”

“Sure I have. 58th Pararescue,” Sam said quietly, most of his bravado seeping out of him. “Did two tours.”

Steve straightened. “Thank you for your service.”

Sam waved off his thanks. “It was a long time ago.”

“Really?”

Sam shrugged, his expression wry. “Doesn’t feel like it sometimes.”

“I got out a year ago,” Steve confessed. “I wake up some nights and still think I’m back there.”

“I know the feeling,” Sam said heavily. “Where’d you serve?”

Steve swallowed. “I was with the Avengers for two years.”

Sam whistled. “Big leagues, then. I suppose it’s a stupid question to ask how you’d like working with them?”

“They were a good team,” Steve said with a smile.

Sam’s mouth twitched. “I bet.”

Steve gave himself a little shake and took his groceries back, hefting the four bags into his arms. “Thanks, Sam,” he said.

Sam tossed him a smile, a little warmer than the perfunctory ones he’d given Steve the other dozen times he’d stopped by since he moved up north. “You’re welcome, Steve. Stop by anytime.”

Steve opened the door, shuddering at the cold wind that blew in his wake. “I sure will. It’s like you said, not much else to do up here.”

He let the door slam shut behind him and hustled to his car. He dumped his groceries in the front seat and ran around to the driver’s side. He turned on the engine, rubbing his bare hands together as he waited for the heating to kick in. At least he hadn’t tried to perform a heating charm, the last time he did that he nearly broke down outside Sam’s store in tears, the last straw after a year’s worth of misery. He saved his melt down for his own driveway.

The drive back to his place was short, barely fifteen minutes. After hauling his groceries in and putting them perishables away in his refrigerator, he checked the generator in the back to make sure it hadn’t crapped out on him – not that he was terribly afraid that it would, Tony had personally delivered it after all – before he turned in for the night. Satisfied that he wouldn’t freeze overnight, Steve stomped out the snow from between the treads of his boots. He caressed the familiar porch railing once before heading back inside, out of the cold.

The SHIELD safe house was the same as when he’d first seen it with Bucky. Snow covering the sills, the lone coffee table in the middle and the kitchenette in the back corner. The huge fireplace on the back wall was the same as ever. The sight sent a familiar ache down his spine. The only difference was the laptop sitting on the coffee table – it was one of Tony’s newest models, outfitted with his patented technology and fully equipped with access to most of SHIELD’s servers. Steve had WiFi now too.

Steve threw a couple of logs in the fireplace and used the weather pages from the paper he’d bought from Sam – he didn’t need experts to tell him that it was going to keep snowing – to start a fire. He halfheartedly checked his email, finding nothing but his weekly update from Nat on the Avengers and a reminder that she’d be by to make sure he didn’t kill himself or freeze to death.

After the catastrophic RFO mission, Steve had stayed with the Avengers for only a couple of months. They didn’t need him, not in his current state. That was what finally hammered in that Bucky was really gone, the failure of Steve’s magic. He’d refused to believe it at first, that Bucky’s body was lying, crushed, in a morgue downtown, but then spell after spell had flopped. His Bond was broken, and he was cast adrift, magic-less like he’d always feared. He had raged at the gym, because at least they hadn’t taken his new body along with Bucky, destroyed countless punching bags, trying and failing to pummel out his grief and anger. It wasn’t enough that Bucky was gone; his magic had abandoned him too.

He was thirteen all over again, alone and magic-less.

So he’d ran. He wasn’t proud of it, but he couldn’t stand seeing the Avengers’ pitying faces, listen to Tony’s quips that were meant to gloss over his discomfort. Bruce was the worst, as he blamed himself for not getting to them in time. He withdrew from the Avengers, hid in his lab, more so than normal, enough that Tony even noticed. Since he was the cause of the tension, Steve removed himself. His replacements were already waiting in the wings; Wanda and Pietro were just about finished with their extra training at SHEILD.

Steve moved back home at first, slept in his shoebox bedroom at his mother’s place until it became too much. Everywhere he looked, he saw Bucky sitting on that couch, eating at that table, sleeping on that piece of floor next to Steve. His mother had tried to help, was even used to dealing with grief from her work at the hospital, but Steve couldn’t help but feel suffocated by her understanding smiles and homemade food every night. She didn’t talk about Bucky, but he was always there, the ghost in the room.

So he ran further, all the way to SHIELD’s safe house that had only the barest memories of Bucky – that one weekend of their final exam.

He met Sam his first day when he had stopped by his general store for supplies.

His closest neighbor, Sharon, lived several miles down the road. She ran a dairy farm, and would always offer him fresh milk or the best butter he’d ever tasted if he stopped by.

Apart from them, Steve was alone. And he, well, he didn’t like it, but it was all that he could stand for the moment, so it had to do.

* * *

“How was your trip?” Steve asked.

Nat swiped her hat off her head and shook out her hair. She hung her jacket up on the hook behind the door and turned to him. “Fine,” she said. “Tony let me borrow the Porsche, so it was only four hours instead of five.”

“I’m glad that you made good time,” Steve said evenly.

Nat shrugged. “Enough about me,” she said. “How’re you doing?”

“Same as ever,” Steve said. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Any coffee?” Nat asked, perking up hopefully. “I’ve been up since six.”

“I told you, you didn’t have to come up here,” Steve chided as he switched on the coffee maker with a frown. “You could’ve waited until-”

“No dice, Rogers,” Nat cut him off. “You’re on my biweekly visit-list until I say so.”

Steve raised his eyebrows as he turned back around to face her. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “And how long is that list?”

“Just you so far,” Nat said easily.

Steve tutted to himself as he rinsed out his only two mugs in the sink. “And how’s Clint?”

“Good,” Nat said. “He’s with Laura at the moment. Their new kid was born ten days ago.”

“Please pass on my congratulations,” Steve said evenly.

Nat threw him a disgruntled look. “You could always tell him yourself.”

“I’ll send him an email.”

“Steve.”

“I’ll call.”

“You can’t keep hiding up here forever,” Nat said quietly.

“Why not?” Steve asked before dropping his gaze. “It’s not like I can be with the Avengers again. I’m good up here – I consult. That’s enough.”

Nat scoffed, “You need actual human contact. It’s not healthy being up here all alone.”

“I saw Sam two days ago!”

“You know you’re only proving my point?” Nat asked with raised eyebrows. “Can you come back, Steve?”

She didn’t sound pained, but Steve had an inkling in what those words cost her. Natasha hardly ever asked for anything, except for Clint to get his head out of his ass or for Tony to shut up. He could count the number of times she’d asked, not ordered, Steve for something on one hand in the three years since he’d met her.

“I can’t,” he said. “You know that.”

Nat shook her head, standing up before Steve could say anything else. “When a Bond breaks,” she said carefully, “It’s not healthy to be alone. You need people in your corner to fill up the missing pieces.”

“I can’t replace-” Steve started in a strangled voice.

Nat reached over him to grab the coffee pot that had finished percolating without Steve noticing. “I’m not saying that you do,” she said calmly. “I’m saying that it’ll help. _Nothing_ can replace a Bond except another one.”

Steve’s fists clenched. He hissed, “If you think for one second-”

Nat cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I’m not saying that you form another Bond tomorrow. In fact, I’m telling you not to. That’s not healthy either.” She sighed. “I’m not saying this right.”

“What are you trying to say?” Steve asked, still breathing a little heavily, but in a patient sort of voice.

Nat sipped from her mug, grimacing at the taste. Steve opened the fridge and handed her a carton of cream without asking. “You need time to grieve, and you shouldn’t be alone.” She smiled bitterly. “You’ll get trapped inside your own head, questioning everything that led you to that building in Chicago, and spiral. It’s not pretty.”

“Hasn’t happened so far,” Steve pointed out.

Nat’s eyes narrowed. “You are this close,” she said, raising her hand to show her thumb and index finger a centimeter apart.

“And you are that good at reading people,” Steve said, his voice flat.

“I’m that good at knowing what a broken Bond is like,” Nat shot back.

“Oh yeah?”

Nat’s stark laugh in the quiet of the cabin made the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stand up. “I don’t suppose you knew that Clint wasn’t my first Bond.”

Steve swallowed down his shock. “I did not,” he said after a moment of silence.

Nat shrugged. “My first familiar was not my own choice. Yelena was assigned to me by the Red Room.” At his wide-eyed look, she explained, “My training center. Held by the Kremlin.” She stirred the cream further into her coffee, frowning down at it as she continued, “She was my final ceremony.”

Steve blinked at her, tilting his head as he mulled it over. “Your Bonding was your final ceremony? Fitting.”

Nat’s smile was sharp and lethal. “No, we Bonded at age ten. The final ceremony was a fight to the death.”

Steve leaned heavily against the counter. “You’ve got to be joking,” he said, even though he could tell from her face that she was not.

Nat licked her lips and set the coffee down. She gestured for Steve to join her on the couch. “They wanted to stand on our own,” she said in a low voice. “Be completely independent except for them. They taught us that they could take the most important thing from us at a moment’s notice and not give a single fuck.”

“You killed her?” Steve rasped, throat dry.

Nat nodded once. “It had to be done. It was her or me, and I’ll always choose myself.” She smiled at Steve, remorseful and proud all at once. “That’s why Clint has Laura – he can’t have something like that with me. Not that he’d want to – he’ll always be my second choice, and I’ll always be his.”

“Were you close? With Yelena?” Steve said, the words almost spilling out of him before could think too hard about them and second guess himself. Normally Nat didn’t let anyone get that close.

Nat’s gaze turned soft. “The closest,” she breathed. She straightened, picked her coffee back up. “Well, as close as you could get under those conditions.”

“Did you know you’d have to do that?”

Nat closed her eyes for a moment. “Not a clue,” she murmured. She met his stunned gaze squarely. “After that, I vowed that nobody would ever keep secrets from me ever again.”

Steve nodded dumbly. “I guess that makes sense.” He ran a hand down his face, tried to picture Natasha facing down a faceless familiar.

“After she died,” she began again, “It was a rush. All that magic came back and then some, the portion of me that had been Yelena’s as well as her own. It was like living high for a year.” She blinked, staring out at the fire but not seeing. “But then it all came crashing down. I fucked up a mission, badly, because I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think of anything but her. It’s why Clint finally caught up to me.” She inclined her head. “You know the rest.”

“Well I don’t think I’ve ever experienced that kind of rush,” Steve said bitterly. He twiddled his fingers in front of his face uselessly. “My magic’s all but gone.”

Nat pursed her lips. “It’s been said that under that kind of strain on the Bond, the magic goes to the one that needs it most.” She laid her hand on his arm, and he started at the gentle pressure. “I hope,” she said, haltingly, “That your magic was with Bucky in his final moments, then.”

Steve swallowed and ducked his head, staring at the blurry floor between his feet. “Me too.”

Nat stayed with him until the next morning. They talked some, and let the silence fall for the rest. It was nice, just having someone there. No pressure to make small talk or voice his grief. That night, he took the couch and she took the bed.

When he woke up, she already had coffee going and was typing away furiously on his laptop. He didn’t question how she got past his passwords. “Are you sure you can’t come back?” Nat asked once he’d finished his first cup.

Steve sighed. “Not yet.”

She nodded once, curt. “I see.”

He padded around the cabin and pulled out a box of cereal. He shook it once in her direction, but at her dismissive head shake, he poured a bowl for himself and put it back. Only after he’d added some milk from Sharon’s farm, did she speak up.

“The RFO execs and everyone from Bucky’s list are finally going to trial next week,” Nat said without looking away from Steve’s laptop screen. “Tony linked them definitively to HYDRA from the information you got from your last mission.”

“Good,” was all Steve had to say about that.

Nat shut the screen with an audible snap and got up. “You could be a valuable witness.”

“I’m sure they’ll do just fine without me.”

“We’re still putting all of the pieces together,” Nat said, “from both missions, but it looks like there is somebody at SHIELD that’s been compromised. Normally we’d open and shut a case like this in six months, but’s been more than a year.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“From what we’ve gathered so far from our intel from the governor’s office, this might go all the way to the higher ups at the Department of Magic. Nobody else would have the resources to slow us down this much.”

That caught Steve’s attention. “How high up?”

“Tony’s been ranting about Pierce a little more often than usual,” Nat said wryly.

Steve sighed. “That high.”

Nat ran a hand through her hair. “It doesn’t look good, Steve,” she said grimly. “If he’s connected to HYDRA, they’re going to be nigh on impossible to take him down without dismantling the whole system.”

“Do you have a connection between Pierce and HYDRA?”

“Nothing yet,” Nat said, frustrated. “It’s just a hunch of Tony’s so far, which I share. Pierce is very adept at covering his tracks if there are any to find.” She rolled her eyes. “And as the most powerful familiar in government, I’m not surprised he’s been flying under the radar all this time.”

Steve set his empty cereal bowl down. “Big picture, though, how is everything related? We had two missions, one at the RFO and one at the governor’s office. From what we knew going in, one email connected them. The anti-magic riots happening at the same time might’ve been a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Nat said.

Steve smirked. “What a coincidence. Neither do I.”

Nat rolled her eyes, and it could have been two years ago, joking around the table during a mission debrief. Steve shook his head, pushing down the thought and resisting the urge to look around for Bucky on his right. Bucky was gone.

“From what your intel from the RFO indicated,” Nat continued, “the politicians wanted to get their hands on lists of familiars, their email addresses, home addresses.”

“For trafficking?” Steve asked, alarmed. “From what – from what I was told, the RFO had practically every familiar’s contact information in the United States at their disposal.”

“Not trafficking,” Nat said. “They couldn’t move domestic familiars. They’re too well known. They’d be missed.”

“So the trafficking was a coincidence?” Steve asked helplessly.

“Maybe a reward,” Nat mused. “Those agencies, the RFO, Familiars First, and the like, they get funding from the government based on how many familiars they ‘assist’ on a quarterly basis.”

“So they shipped in new familiars to meet their quotas,” Steve finished grimly. “With help from corrupt politicians.”

“I think so,” Nat said, biting her lip.

“But the familiars that we found at RFO looked like the subjects in experiments,” Steve argued. “Were they to be transferred later?”

“Probably,” Nat said. “There’s no reason why they couldn’t serve both functions… if they were still able to Bond and perform magic after all they went through.”

Steve got up and began to pace. “Okay, so that still leaves the politicians with the access to familiars’ records. Why would they want that?”

Nat shook her head. She had no answers.

“Great,” Steve said as he ran a hand over his face. “Let’s assume the politicians are HYDRA. Why would HYDRA want the familiar information?”

Nat’s face lit up. “Get the familiars, you get the witches. You have all of the magical community within reach.”

“So what’s their end goal, then?” Steve asked as he paused in front of her. “It can’t just be world domination through leaflet campaigns and spamming familiars’ emails.”

Nat tapped her fingers against the laptop, her nails clacking. “What’s that final connection we’re missing? HYDRA and the anti-magic riots? What would that accomplish?”

They went in circles for a little while longer, until Nat had to go. She got her coat and hat by the door and pulled them on. She paused by the door, hand on the doorknob as she debated something with herself. “There’ve been attacks,” she said slowly. “We think HYDRA associated, based on the targets. All abroad, so far. Nothing we should concern ourselves with.”

“Then why are you telling me?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised.

“Because the Avengers might be his first target if he ever comes back stateside,” Nat said simply. “And I want you to be prepared at minimum, and ready to fight with us, worst-case scenario.”

“But I can’t-”

“It’s not the same without you,” Nat said swiftly. “Nobody cares if you can’t do magic like you used to, Tony could probably build you something to make up the difference.”

“Nat,” Steve began, torn, “You know I can’t-”

“Just… be prepared,” Nat said with a sigh. “Inter-Pol and MI5 are calling him the Winter Soldier. By all accounts, he’s dangerous.”

Steve glowered. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“I’ll see you in two weeks, Steve,” she said before disappearing.

He couldn’t tell if that was meant to be a threat or a comfort.

* * *

Winter rumbled to an end, ice and snow slowly thawing away from the dead earth underneath. Without the powdery covering, the woods around the cabin became skeletal. Stark branches swayed in chilly breezes as Spring greenery refused to emerge just yet.

The scenery suited Steve just fine. Everything would’ve been much worse if verdant foliage surrounded him on what would have been Bucky’s birthday.

Luckily he’d called his mother the week before to say that he wouldn’t be down in the city for March 10th. He had contemplated visiting Bucky’s grave, but dashed the thought as soon as the tears came. Seeing his headstone, standing above his ashes, would not help in the slightest.

During Bucky’s funeral, he had briefly entertained the hope for closure up until the service began, but he’d taken one look at the casket and had to leave. His mother said his speech in his place. Tony had found him afterwards, wallowing in his apartment. He’d taken him to a local bar, because it was Tony, where they proceeded to get blackout drunk. He woke up in Tony’s penthouse the next morning, hung over as shit and not remotely ready for the sight of Clint in nothing but boxers flipping pancakes for him. At the other end of the counter, without a hair out of place, Pepper pushed a glass of orange juice towards him and a bottle of pain killers. He spent the rest of the day with them, the oddest pair he could imagine, Pepper playing exasperated straight man to Clint’s over-the-top comedian.

Now, for the next big milestone in Steve’s internal Bucky calendar, Steve was completely prepared to spend the day alone with a bottle of jack that he’d bought at Sam’s the weekend before. It was Bucky’s favorite.

At least, that was Steve’s plan until Sam arrived on Steve’s doorstep at 11am, holding up his phone and wearing a bemused expression on his face. “Do you know why I got a text from an untraceable number yesterday that told me to,” he glanced down at his phone, frowning as he read off, “‘Go keep Steve company because he’ll be crying emoji tomorrow. Bring all the DVDs. Do not disregard this message or you will be skull emoji.’” Sam kicked a cardboard box by his feet. “Also, do you have any idea why someone shipped me all of the Fast & the Furious films? Including the one that’s still in theaters?”

“Nat thinks she’s being funny,” Steve grumbled as he glared down at the box. “I’m sorry you came out here, Sam,” he said apologetically. “I’m, uh, not fit for company.” He glanced down at his pajama pants, and would bet good money that he had purple bags under his eyes based on how much he tossed and turned last night. He hadn’t bothered combing his hair this morning.

“Mind telling me why not?” Sam asked, eyeing Steve up and down speculatively.

“Uh, it would’ve been my familiar’s birthday,” Steve said after a moment. He smiled, more than a little lopsided. “First one without him, so I’m kind of going to be a drag.”

Sam snorted and nudged the box of DVDs into the doorway before he edged in himself. “That’s fine, man. I am a goddamn goldmine of information and can carry a conversation all by myself. Don’t you worry.” He walked in and plopped himself down on Steve’s couch. “All your gossip in a one stop shop.” He glanced around and laughed at his own joke. “Shop not included this time.”

Steve picked up the cardboard box and shut the door. “You sure about this?” he asked dubiously.

“Hell yeah,” Sam said quietly. “I ever tell you about my wingman?”

“No.”

“I was alone for his first birthday without the birthday boy,” Sam said, eyes going distant. “I wasn’t coping so good to start out with, and it was a goddamn miracle Riley’s sister stopped by that night to save me from doing something I would’ve regretted.”

“Riley?”

Sam nodded curtly. “We were flying a night mission. Standard PJ rescue op. Nothing we hadn’t done a hundred times before.” He stared at Steve, gaze unblinking. “Until a RPG knocked Riley’s dumbass out of the sky. Nothing I could do. It was like I was up there just to watch.”

Steve sank down on the couch next to him, conscious of the space between them. “So it looks like I’m not the only who ran away and wound up here.”

Sam cocked his head. “What, you thought people actually chose to be here if they had any other option? All of us out here are trying to scrape by. You know Sharon? She’s ex-CIA. Did something damn near unforgivable down in DC and had to move all the way up here to get away. Not that I know the details, of course.” He shrugged and clapped a hand to Steve’s shoulder as he got to his feet. “You’re not alone, man. Especially out here, though it may seem like it.”

“Your Riley,” Steve said, twisting around to watch Sam fill up two glasses of water and bring them back to the couch. “Were you best friends, teammates, or…?”

Sam chuckled to himself. “All of the above,” he said as he handed Steve a glass. “And then some.”

“Oh.”

Sam sat back down. “It’s cool. I imagine it’s like that Bond thing that you magical folk have.”

“I – uh, I did Bond with him,” Steve said awkwardly. “But we were, uh, like that too.”

“No shit, really?” Sam asked. He let out a gusty sigh of air. “That’s fucking rough.”

“For about two hours,” Steve added, staring down into his full water glass. “So I don’t know if that part really counts.”

Sam’s understanding expression fractured something he’d thought had frozen solid in Steve’s chest. “Sure it does, man. You loved him, right?”

Steve nodded, not trusting himself to speak. “I never told him,” he said hoarsely after a moment’s pause. “But I think he knew.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “You’re a bad liar, Steve. All that ‘I’m fine’ bullshit that you parroted back at me for those first couple months – I saw straight through you. Wasn’t my place to pry, though,” Sam said, ignoring Steve’s watery frown of disbelief. “I think that if you loved your familiar, you probably had it damn near tattooed on your face every day that you felt that way.”

“Bucky,” Steve said, squinting against the prickling sensation at the corner of his eyes. “His name was Bucky.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Only nickname that suited him.”

“Alright,” Sam said, but he had his judging face on, which gave Steve the bizarre urge to laugh. Everyone that Steve had spoken to in the past year about Bucky had known his name already, could put a face to the unusual nickname. But not Sam. “What were you planning on doing today?”

Steve shrugged. “Work,” he said, gesturing at his laptop. “Drink later.” He gestured at the counter, where the bottle of whiskey sat, still unopened.

“Okay,” Sam said slowly after a minute. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Steve repeated heavily.

“That’s pathetic, man,” Sam said frankly. “You cannot drink alone before five in your cabin in the woods all by yourself. You’d be a walking add for bad decision-making.”

“Well we can’t all fire on all cylinders all the time, can we?” Steve shot back, a little stung at Sam’s words.

Sam rolled his eyes. “That’s no excuse for not taking care of yourself. You can grieve in a healthy manner, respectful to Bucky and yourself.” He frowned at the bottle and got up to put it away. “No more of this,” he said, swinging it a little by the neck, “until we’re at least two films in, okay?” he asked. He grimaced. “The last ones were terrible. We’re going to need all of this to get through them anyway. Better save it.”

Steve huffed, but didn’t say anything in protest. To his surprise, Sam didn’t immediately dive for the box of DVDs. Instead, he took a sip of his water and sat back down on the couch. “You got any hobbies?” He asked out of nowhere.

“Uh, I used to draw when I was a kid,” Steve said, “Read a lot.”

Sam glanced around the cabin, probably taking in the lack of books and drawing materials. “Sounds good.”

“I was thinking of starting a garden,” Steve said slowly, glancing out the window. “I grew up in the city. Never had one.”

Sam grinned. “No experience at all?”

“Not really,” Steve confessed.

“That’s great,” Sam said, enthused. “Let me know if you have any trouble. I got a garden out back behind the store. I can help you out if you get stuck.”

“Thanks, I might take you up on that,” Steve said with a surprising rush of gratitude. He mustered up a smirk. “Can’t keep buying all my food from you. I’d go bankrupt with the prices you’re charging.”

Sam held up his hands. “Hey, a man’s gotta make a living.”

“You’re worse than Tony Stark.”

“Too far, man, too far,” Sam said with a laugh. “Did you really know him?”

“Sure do,” Steve said as he leaned back. He gestured to his laptop. “Gave me that computer.”

Sam pulled it towards him. “No way,” he said as he turned it over, tilting the screen back and pressing a button for the hologram screen to pop up. “I’ve only read about these.”

Steve shrugged. “He called it my going away present.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose in surprised disbelief. “No kidding?”

“Tony’s not big on tact.”

“I can see that,” Sam said as he put the computer back. “Good thing he’s not big on skimping on his friends. Think you could hook a brother up?”

Steve shrugged. “Probably. I’ll ask him next time I see him.”

Sam merely smiled at him. “You get me one of those, and it’s half off all your purchases for a month.”

Steve held out his hand to shake on it. “Deal.”

Silence settled on them, comfortable and familiar in a way that Steve hadn’t experienced for a year. Outside, birds chirped and a car rumbled past. The air still smelled faintly of the fire that Steve had going in the morning, but had let die as the morning wore on and the temperature steadily rose.

Sam bent down to get the first film.

* * *

True to his word, as soon as the weather warmed enough for planting season, Steve started a small farm in front of the cabin. He turned over a patch of soil, and spent two sunny afternoons putting in tomato, potato, onion, Brussels sprouts, string bean, and pepper seeds. He even added sunflowers to the last row on a whim. His mother’s favorite flower. She would be visiting more often, once the weather was nice on a more consistent basis.

From his borrowed book from Sam, he learned to mark down which vegetables went where with little posts in the ground, and the approximate start and end date of harvest season with little exes on his calendar.

He still ached for Bucky like a missing limb, but now he could at least sleep at night after spending several hours in the sun, bent over, weeding. He could manage five or so hours on a good night before he would wake up, gasping and reaching for a body that wasn’t there, was never really there, because he and Bucky never had the chance to do that.

The worst dreams, so much worse than reliving that Chicago mission, were the ones where he’d go through his daily life back at Avengers Tower, tired days immediately post-mission when they had nothing to do but wait for intel to compile. The lull in the action made Bucky itch for something to do, so he’d find Steve and goad him into movie marathons, if he was feeling generous, or punishing runs in Central Park, that always ended in a race, if not. Steve would collapse at the end, back prickling with grass that poked through his shirt, panting for air and beaming in victory because he always won.

Steve would wake up, lungs tight and smile wide, look over and expect to see Bucky’s sweaty face, red with exertion, grinning back at him.

No matter how many times he had that dream, he never could remember in time that he shouldn’t turn his head.

A shrill alarm woke him before he reached the end of the race, and although it had interrupted what was probably going to be a full night’s sleep, Steve couldn’t help the relief that poured through his veins. His disappointment could have been so much worse. He glanced at the clock in the kitchen above the stove and groaned. It was four in the morning.

Cursing the day he let Sam talk him into buying a motion sensor for his farm, Steve clambered to his feet and hopped across the cold floor. He had installed the motion sensor after complaining to Sam for the fifth time that some animal was eating his plants. He spent several minutes venting while Sam rang up his purchases and felt only a little guilty afterwards. His first surge of anger unrelated to Bucky since Chicago, Steve couldn’t help but embrace the thrill of it.

He slipped into his boots, a little dusty from weeding yesterday afternoon, and grabbed the gun leaning against the wall by the door. The grip still felt unfamiliar in his hands, despite the hours he’d put in at the practice range and training for his license. He walked out into the chilled early morning air, breath fogging up in front of his face. A little drowsy from his abrupt wakeup call, it took Steve a full minute to take in the scene.

Just like Sam had warned, his vegetable thief was a deer. It was munching contentedly on Steve’s tomato plants. It either didn’t notice Steve or didn’t care. Either way, it wasn’t going to be Steve’s problem any longer. He raised the gun and took aim.

A barely discernable sound at his right made him pause, and Steve’s mouth fell open in surprise as a huge wolf stepped a little further out of the forest and into the light from the full moon overhead. Ears pricked, they twitched once in Steve’s direction before its giant furry head swiveled to settle on the deer.

An owl hooted in the distance, and Steve nearly jumped out of his skin. His hands twitched, and he fired the gun by accident, the sound echoing off the trees and around Steve’s head. Luckily he had already braced himself for the recoil.

The deer collapsed in a heap, legs kicking uselessly.

The wolf hadn’t bolted at the sound. If anything, it looked more aggressive, lips pulled back in a snarl that bared all its teeth. It hadn’t lunged for the deer, slowly bleeding out next to Steve’s tomatoes, as Steve’s half-panicked brain had wildly predicted. Instead, all its focus seemed to rest entirely on Steve.

When it attacked, Steve was not ready.

Within two bounds of its powerful hind legs, the wolf was on Steve’s porch. A blood curdling growl sounded low in its throat before it jumped up for the kill.

Steve threw up his arm instinctively, reaching for his magic that wasn’t there to power a shield spell.

The wolf latched on, razor sharp teeth digging into Steve’s right forearm through his light flannel shirt. Steve’s scream had barely left his mouth before the wolf let go. It licked its muzzle, red with blood - Steve’s blood.

Steve staggered back, right arm shaking wildly, as he blindly searched for the doorknob behind him with his left hand. He reached, and the round metal had never felt so welcome. Steve stumbled backwards inside and slammed the door behind him. He collapsed against it, breathing heavily, and pulled back the ragged remains of his sleeve. He grimaced at the iron taste of blood in the air. The round circular marks of the wolf’s teeth were deep, but hopefully wouldn’t require stitches. Either way, the nearest hospital was too far to be of any use. He wasn’t going to bleed out anytime soon.

He stumbled to the first aid kit he kept beneath the bathroom sink.

The wolf howled.

The hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stood on end. It was still too close, any closer and it’d be inside the cabin.

Steve switched on the bathroom light and dropped to all fours as he rooted through the cabinet under the sink. He grabbed the first aid kid, grimacing as his fingers left swipes of blood in their wake on the white plastic casing. He shimmied out of his shirt, scowling as part of his sleeve had become stuck to the wound and had to be individually lifted away before he could get it fully off.

In the harsh florescent light of the bathroom, Steve could see the full damage. The wolf’s bite had left two messy rows of teeth marks. The front canine punctures bled the most, while the holes left by the back teeth leaked sluggishly. Steve held the bottle of hydrogen peroxide between his knees and grabbed a towel from the rack behind him. He twisted the cap with his left hand and set the bottle on the floor. He dipped the corner of the towel in and pressed the soaked end to his arm, biting back a yell as the stinging raced up his arm. He clenched his jaw shut against the rest of the pain as he cleaned the rest of his bite, and silently prayed that the wolf didn’t have rabies or something equally awful.

He stared hard at the bite before he started on the bandaging. It was going to scar over his Bond mark.

He hurriedly taped himself up.

Later that morning, he drove to the free clinic in the nearest town. After a quiet but firm harangue from the on-call nurse for not coming in immediately, she called animal control and sent him home with a bottle of antibiotics.

Animal control showed up several hours later in a noisy truck that clanked and groaned as it parked in the driveway leading to Steve’s cabin. They spent half an hour tramping around the property, looking for any signs of the wolf, and eventually left Steve with their business card and strict instructions to call them if he saw the wolf again so they could come back and set proper traps.

The next day was Saturday, and time to visit Sam.

“Have you ever had a problem with wolves?” Steve asked. He’d strode straight up to the cash register, not even bothering start on his shopping yet.

Sam’s eyes widened in alarm. “Can’t say I have,” he said in a would-be-calm sort of voice. “I take you’ve seen one?”

Steve ruefully pulled back the sleeve of his right arm

Sam started forward at the sight of the bandages. “Holy shit, man, did it bite you?”

“Very quickly,” Steve affirmed. “Barely got me.”

Sam ran a hand over his face. “I thought you meant you saw one along the highway or something. What, was it hiding under your porch or something?”

“Waiting at the edge of the garden, actually,” Steve said. “I was just about to shoot a deer that had been eating my tomatoes, and it charged at me instead.”

“Sure, I’d say you’re more appetizing than venison any day,” Sam said with a nod before his gaze dropped to Steve’s arm. “Jesus, that looks nasty. You get that checked out?”

Steve waved off his concern. “I’m okay. I went to the clinic.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know man. I’ve never heard of wolves attacking people around here. I mean, some people have seen bobcats and mountain lions killing off livestock. Some bear sightings a couple of weeks ago. Nothing like this though.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Sam confirmed. “Listen, watch out okay? Wolves are pack animals. If you saw one, there are probably more out there. Watch your back.”

“I will.”

“Christ,” Sam said as he scratched at his chin. “I’ll put up a sign or something on the bulletin board. Make sure people are keeping safe.”

“Thanks,” Steve said warmly.

“You okay?”

“A little shaken up,” Steve admitted. “But I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

“About you? No, I worry about me – you’re only fifteen miles away.” Sam glanced around his store, brows pinched together in concern. “In all seriousness, though. Give me a call if anything else like this happens? You don’t want to mess with wild animals.”

“Oh believe me, I know,” Steve said as he bent down to pick up a red handbasket by the door. “I used to work with a raging bull on my team, remember?”

“Oh right, the mighty Avenger,” Sam called from his spot against the counter.

Steve smiled as he made his way over to the bread section and pulled out a loaf. “Gave me a lot of respect for Sharon and her cows.” He put a container of mayonnaise in his basket, along with a jar of jam. He walked around the aisles, stopping in front of the refrigerator. “Hey, you know were I can get my hands on a grill?” he asked Sam.

Sam pursed his lips. “Hawley’s might have one. That hardware store down on Route 23.”

“Sounds good.” Steve placed a container of hamburger meat inside his basket as well. He hesitated, and then grabbed a half carton of eggs.

“How’s the farm coming along?”

“Pretty well, I think,” Steve said. “Deer ate some of the tomatoes, but they haven’t been able to get the potatoes in the ground, and the peppers should be coming in in a couple of days.”

“Look at you,” Sam marveled as he began adding up Steve’s groceries. “Soon you’ll be living off the land, one of those hermits that only comes in here for bread rolls and spam.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth lifted into a half-smile. “That’s the dream, Sam. That’s the dream.”

“Well,” Sam said as he began pulling out plastic bags. “Don’t let anybody tell you that you don’t dream big.” He didn’t look up from bagging the foodstuffs. “You happy, man?”

Steve took a while to answer, enough that Sam sneaked a glance at his face. “Getting there,” he said eventually, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“That’s as good an answer as any,” Sam said. “That’ll be $18.40.”

Steve handed his card over. “You doing well?”

“Me?” Sam asked. “I’m not the one that got mauled by a wolf.”

“Still,” Steve said with a shrug.

Sam glanced down to where his phone lay on the counter next to the register. “Your friend, Natasha? She’s one scary woman.”

“I know that,” Steve said. “I did not know you did, though.”

“She keeps texting me,” Sam said, perplexed. “I don’t even usually get service up here.”

“No kidding?” Steve’s eyes widened. “She is a witch.”

Sam snorted. “Course she is.”

“You got something against that?” Steve asked carefully. Sure, he was a witch too, but he’d never done magic around Sam. By the time he’d met him, he’d already nearly eliminated the instinct to try magic first for his problems.

“No,” Sam said quickly. “But it’s weird, right?”

“Not really,” Steve said slowly. “Humans and witches can be friends.”

“Not sure friends is what she’s after,” Sam muttered.

Steve’s eyebrows rose. “Oh so…”

“So it’s like that,” Sam finished with a barely-there smirk. “Hey, you got a picture of her or something? I have no idea what she even looks like. No Facebook, no Instagram, no nothing.”

“None of us were allowed,” Steve murmured under his breath as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his camera roll. He blinked as he came across the first one that clearly showed Natasha’s face. The photo was of the three of them, sitting comfortably on Bucky’s couch in his apartment in the Tower. They’d just had a movie night with the rest of the Avengers, but it was some Disney movie that ended earlier than they had planned, so the three of them had watched another in Bucky’s apartment and had gotten totally wasted like teenagers with a bottle of whiskey that Nat had stolen from Tony’s communal stash.

Bucky was in the middle between them, and Steve’s face was crimson.

“That’s her,” Steve said as he tilted the phone so Sam could see. He pointed rather unnecessarily at Nat’s face.

Sam glanced up at Steve, his face the very picture of concern. “And that’s-”

“That’s Bucky,” Steve added in a low voice. “My familiar.”

“Handsome,” Sam said neutrally as he let Steve pocket his phone.

Steve stuck his phone back into his pocket, where it pressed like a live wire against his thigh. “I always thought so.”

* * *

That first night, he’d sat on his porch with the largest mug of coffee he owned in one hand and his gun in the other. He waited until dawn broke over the horizon, still antsy and jittery with a sort of excitement that he couldn’t explain even to himself. Steve had never delighted in killing except for the cockroaches that turned up in his ma’s apartment in Brooklyn. He hadn’t even meant to kill the deer, just scare it off a little. He debated with himself for the whole night whether he should shoot the wolf or not.

But the wolf never showed.

Steve was back again on the porch the night after that, bundled up for the early Spring chill and more than a little exhausted from saying up the whole night before. The night air was soothing, and he felt like the last man in the world as he surveyed his property. There wasn’t a sign of another soul for miles around.

The third night, Steve meant to stay up again after taking cat naps throughout the day, but he fell asleep at eleven, jerking back awake two hours later, slumped over his knees, and half afraid the wolf had tried to eat him in his sleep.

Nearly two weeks went by before he saw it again.

Just like the first time, the motion sensor went off in the early morning hours. Steve, anticipation thrumming in his veins, dressed in a hurry and grabbed the gun still propped against the wall by the front door. Half hoping it was simply a deer, half dreading it was the wolf, Steve stepped out onto the porch, stifling a noise as he caught sight of gigantic paws covered in soil from Steve’s garden, followed by a tan muzzle that turned to darker brown around the bridge of the nose and around the eyes. Its gaze settled unerringly on Steve, who instinctually backed up a step, his right arm throbbing down his forearm with phantom pain.

He stared at the wolf, met its yellow gaze head on.

Hell would freeze over before Steve backed down from a challenge, as Bucky had been so fond of saying.

Finally, just as Steve’s eyes began to water, the wolf blinked and averted its eyes to stare at some particularly offensive pepper plant.

Steve let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and sank down on wobbly legs to sit in a crouch on his porch. He didn’t let the wolf out of his sight. He didn’t look away until twenty minutes later when the wolf abruptly turned tail and vanished back into the dark forest.

Steve called Sam at a more reasonable hour of the morning to tell him what had happened. Sam, predictably, urged him to call animal control to get the wolf taken care of, but Steve hesitated. Sure, the first time the wolf had attacked Steve. But the second, it hadn’t done any harm. If it attacked again, that might be signs of a pattern. Sam let him know that if Steve had a death wish, and if he was planning on offing himself via wolf, then he should tell Sam right fucking now. Steve told him there was nothing to worry about. Sam scoffed and hung up on him.

For now, Steve would reserve judgement. He was well aware he was taking his life into his own hands, but it felt innately wrong to kill an animal that majestic, that lonely. He hadn’t seen any other wolves around, and he was positive it was the same wolf as the first night.

Steve shook his head. He was getting maudlin over a wolf – but there were worst things. Bucky would probably laugh his ass off and then shoot the damn thing himself once it so much as looked at Steve funny.

Plus, he’d already killed the last _canidae_ in his life. He wasn’t in a gigantic hurry to gun down the next.

After that, Steve and the wolf settled into an odd pattern. Every couple days or so, the motion sensor would wake Steve up. He’d make his way outside, gun in hand, to watch the wolf prowl along the edges of his garden. Once the wolf had slinked off to wherever it went during the day, Steve would go back inside, start the coffee maker, and catch an hour or two more of sleep.

* * *

The first week of summer started slow and warm. Steve restocked his staples at Sam’s and Nat visited and brought news of Clint’s newest baby and Tony’s engagement. He’d been having a good week, by all accounts, until dinner with Sharon.

Normally they stuck to lunch visits, daytime excursions out on the pasture for fresh air – not that either of them really needed it – and sometimes they drove into town for coffee.

Looking back, Steve could see how Sharon had thought they’d been steadily heading in the direction of a dinner date. He had finally clued in when he entered the dining room to find a gorgeous spread of roast beef, salad, and potatoes, and just two place settings. Whenever they had eaten before, they usually took lunch in the kitchen, sitting on barstools by her counter, sunlight streaming in from the window above the sink. By the time they had gotten through to dessert, he’d said he was sorry for leading her on about a dozen times. To be fair, Sharon wasn’t handling the miscommunication any better. She nearly knocked the wine over twice.

“Look,” she said, grabbing his wrist firmly before he could get up and clear away the last of the plates, “No harm done, Steve. I get it, okay? Don’t beat yourself up about this.”

“I’m so sorry,” Steve said miserably.

She shook her head. “You haven’t broken my heart, don’t worry,” she assured him. “I just thought we might be good together. And hey, we’re already good as friends. That’s not anything to shake a stick at.”

Steve laughed, still a bit red about the face. “I suppose not.” He pushed the last remnants of pie crust around on his plate. “I can’t, Sharon. I – I don’t think I’m going to be over him for a long while.”

Sharon opened her mouth to say something, the corners of her mouth lifted in a smile that died as she got a good look at his face. “Did he break your heart?” she asked.

“I – I guess so,” Steve said. “But not on purpose – he died.”

“Oh my god I’m so sorry,” Sharon said, hands raised over her mouth.

Steve shrugged. “I’m dealing.”

Sharon didn’t say anything else for a moment. “I – I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Steve reassured her.

“I –” Sharon started, but she cut herself off, biting her lip. “Are you lonely?”

Steve inhaled sharply. “I live alone,” he said carefully, “But I wouldn’t call myself lonely.”

“Okay,” Sharon said before she stood up. He caught sight of her face. She clearly didn’t believe him.

Steve got to his feet too and began to gather the plates, but she stopped him with a wave of her hand. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We can take care of that later. I have a surprise for you.”

“What is it?” Steve said as he followed her out of the dining room.

Sharon tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder and slid open the back door. “My dog, Thirteen, had a litter of puppies two months ago.”

The crisp night air woke Steve up a little from his wine-induced stupor, blew some relief against his overheated face. Sharon’s property measured several acres. Most of it was taken up by pasture for her cows to graze and clop around on. As for the rest, Steve could barely make out the newly shorn hayfields behind the barn in the dark.

Sharon led the way, sliding back the heavy barn door with a shove and gesturing Steve inside. He squinted against the gloom, involuntarily wincing at the thick air, filled with the harsh smell of manure, hay, and summer heat.

“Come on,” she said, barely sparing a glance for the empty stalls as she walked purposefully towards the back where she kept her tractor, lawn mower, and other farming equipment. She ducked inside the small door and pulled out her phone so she could find the light switch along the wall. “She’s this way.”

The smell of manure wasn’t so powerful here. The taste of dust and rusted metal lingered in the air, and Steve bit back a sneeze. They ducked around the tractor, and there, resting between the wheels, was a German shepherd and her puppies.

Steve took an involuntary step back, face going white. Thirteen had the same standard German shepherd coloring, a black back with tan legs, and an expressive face. She looked older than Bucky ever got a chance to. When her face tilted up at him, warm brown eyes curious, Steve stumbled onto a wooden table holding all sorts of handheld farming tools. They rattled, and he jumped again.

Sharon looked back at him from where she had crouched over the litter, her hand rubbing the smooth fur between Thirteen’s large ears. Her mouth opened and she panted, her tan eyebrows coming together as she stared up Sharon.

“They’re just old enough to be separated and I’ve been looking for homes. I’ve already talked to Sam…” she was saying, but Steve only heard every other word.

Steve sent one panicked look back at Sharon and her dog. “I – I can’t,” Steve said in a strangled voice as he retreated further, back the way they had come.

Sharon stood to her full height, her face a mask of confusion, but Steve was already gone before she could say another word.

The walk back to his car was a blur.

The car ride home was a blur.

Everything was a blur, except Bucky.

He knew he had lost time when he found himself sitting in the middle of the bed in his cabin in the woods, clutching his knees to his chest. He couldn’t identify the wet gasps for a moment, not until his expanding chest met the flat plane of his thighs in time with the shuddering breaths. He raised a shaking hand to his chest, pressed down hard as if that would help any of the tightness already seizing his sternum.

Scrabbling sounded at the door, nails scratching against the wood. A howl outside made Steve look up, eyes wide with fear.

Steve couldn’t remember if he locked the door or not.

It clearly didn’t matter, as the door opened by itself as Steve watched, transfixed. The wolf stalked inside, its tail pointed straight back as it sniffed the floor once.

Steve sent one panicked glance at his gun, still propped uselessly against the wall by the door, before he went back to staring at the wolf, which was getting closer and closer. He couldn’t summon a knife from the drying rack on the counter; couldn’t raise any magical defenses to protect himself.

Steve’s breathing stopped altogether.

He let out a sound like a death rattle, and the wolf froze.

Steve choked on air, and his hands flew out to brace himself against the bedcovers as he sucked in a badly-needed lungful of air. It wasn’t enough, nothing was enough. Steve was going to die here, mauled by a wolf. It was fitting: he killed his dog, and now a wolf was going to kill him.

Steve couldn’t help the tiny flicker of gratitude that it was finally going to be over.

The wolf resumed its steady path towards Steve, the heavy pads of its paws nearly silent against the wooden floor of the cabin. It paused at the foot of the bed before it leapt up in one bound, and Steve nearly swallowed his tongue in fright. He couldn’t move a muscle, only watch as the wolf settled itself on all fours on top of the covers.

“Please,” Steve said, not entirely sure what he was pleading for.

But the wolf didn’t lunge for his throat like it did the first time. Instead, to Steve’s complete bewilderment, it lowered its head and began to lick Steve’s face. Slowly at first, and then faster when the tears started coming again in earnest.

Steve didn’t have any idea how long he sat there in his bed with a wolf keeping him company.

Eventually the wolf tired, sank to all fours, and laid its head on its massive paws as it stared up at Steve. Its yellow eyes practically glowed in the dark.

Steve was a mess, eyes red and swollen from all the crying, his limbs stiff from holding the same position for god knows how long, and hiccups still jumping from his chest every so often as his sobs quieted.

He’d never been this close to the wolf before, usually they had all of Steve’s growing vegetables standing between them, not to mention a firearm. Steve reached out before he could think better of it, fingers inches away from the wolf’s deadly jaws. His hand hovered there for a moment, and Steve nearly shouted in surprise at what he felt, not with his fingers, but with his magic sense.

The wolf was a familiar.

“How-?” Steve started, half-waiting for an answer that would probably never come.

It was a common belief that familiars who didn’t take witches would get stuck in their familiar form and go feral. Jim had told the witch Commandos this, Gabe nodding along approvingly at his side. Jim had said that it was just a superstition, used to spread fear among the familiars and increase the pressure to Bond and make the most out of their magic. As far as Steve had heard from any of the Commandos after high school graduation, Jim hadn’t taken any witch, and wasn’t scampering around New York City sidewalks as a crazy tanuki. From their last get-together shortly after Bucky and Steve had joined the Avengers, Jim was working as an assistant teacher in a high school in Queens while he finished his education degree.

Then again, superstitions had to come from somewhere.

Steve withdrew his hand and studied the wolf thoughtfully. Its luminous yellow eyes never left Steve’s face, but for the first time he didn’t feel threatened. The wolf seemed almost concerned.

Despite everything, the panic attack, his unlikely bed companion, Steve managed to fall asleep.

The next morning, the wolf was gone. The only sign that Steve had had a late-night visitor at all was the still open front door.

* * *

Steve threw himself into work the next day, so much so that he nearly forgot that Nat was due for her biweekly visit in the early evening.

“Rogers,” Nat greeted as she stepped over the threshold.

Steve looked up from where he had been hastily scrubbing down the counter. “You couldn’t knock?”

“You didn’t hear me?” she countered.

Steve straightened and dropped the sponge in its tray. “How are you?”

“Good,” Nat said as she dropped her overnight bag by the couch and threw herself on it, limbs sprawling. “We’re heading out another mission in two days.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed critically. “And you thought it best to take a ten hour trip the day before?”

“I’ve survived on less sleep,” Nat said, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she leaned back and watched the lazy circles of the ceiling fan spin around. “We’ve been working on it for weeks – even Bruce managed to crawl out of his lab and join us.”

“And they could spare you on such short notice?”

“A little birdie told me you had a wild animal problem. I figured I’d come up and check it out for you.” She grinned.

“Clint?”

“Sam.”

Steve snorted. “It’s not a problem.”

“Sam said you got bitten,” Nat said. “Did you know that wolves aren’t native to the area? At all?”

Steve blinked. “I did not know that.”

Nat muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like _dumbass_ , but as Steve couldn’t really dispute it, he stayed silent. “We’re going after HYDRA tomorrow,” she said in a louder voice.

Steve sighed heavily. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Coffee’d be great, thanks.” She picked at something underneath her nails, her hooded eyes never leaving his face. “It’s been a real shit show actually,” she continued in a faux-casual voice. “Fury’s finally behind us. SHIELD officially is not. I don’t know if anyone has kept you updated, but Tony’s been doing some digging – the illegal type – and according to him Pierce is definitely HYDRA. That’s what we’re going after. Some definitive proof on a mission that’s been approved by Fury.” She snorted. “Took a million years to convince Tony that his hacking wouldn’t hold up in court.”

“Tony does have a lax relationship with the law,” Steve said derisively.

Nat’s smile turned sardonic. “Don’t we all?”

Steve poured two mugs of coffee and handed one to her along with some cream. “Okay so it looks like the politicians and HYDRA have a definite connection, and we already pinned those familiar organizations to them. What about the anti-magic riots?”

“We’re hoping to pick up some chatter on those too when we head down to DC.”

“So you’ve got nothing?”

“Not nothing,” Nat countered, but her words lacked any heat. “We’ve definitely established a pattern, can predict where they’ll happen next. We have no idea what’s causing it, though.”

“They’re hitting bigger and bigger cities, going further west.” Steve said quietly as he stared down into his coffee. “I’ve read about them in the newspaper. Dallas, right?”

“Phoenix went under last weekend,” Nat said heavily. “The news is a little behind on the times. Three casualties. There are rumors of starting what looks like a magical internment camp.”

“Fuck,” Steve said eloquently.

Nat nodded.

“And Tony hasn’t found anything linking them to HYDRA?”

“Nothing except that first fucking email,” Nat said with a rueful shake of her head. Her lips pursed. “And you’re sure you don’t-”

“It looks like this mission’s been planned for a while. I don’t want to disrupt anything.”

“That’s not a no,” Nat said carefully.

Steve sighed and placed his mug on the coffee table as he turned to face her fully. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you – I’m not coming back. I can’t do that again, Nat.” He gestured to the cabin. “I live here. I’ve made a life here. You can verify everything with Sam,” he rolled his eyes, “which you’ve already probably done.”

“Are you happy here? I’ve asked Sam that, and he said he couldn’t say.” Her green eyes bore into his. “Are you?”

Steve dropped his head, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees as he stared into the empty fireplace across from them. “I can’t be happy without him, Nat. Not yet. But I’m working on it.” He closed his eyes and asked, “Was it like that for you after Yelena?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “It felt exactly like that.”

“And then you met Clint?” He looked back at her for confirmation.

“And then I met Clint. And it was another five years of looking after his sorry ass when he was supposed to be handling mine before we even broached the topic of Bonding.” She reached out and rubbed him on the back. “It’s okay if it doesn’t work out like that for you. I know you don’t think you’ll ever Bond with another familiar, and that’s perfectly fine. Just… I hate to see you shut up out here because you think you deserve to be alone after what happened. You don’t deserve that, and not because it wasn’t your fault – even though it wasn’t – but because nobody deserves to be alone like that.”

“I know,” Steve said, and to his embarrassment, the corners of his eyes prickled at her words.

“It took me a long time to see that,” Natasha said, still rubbing his back soothingly. “And not to blame myself. And now I watch you, punishing yourself, and Steve – you don’t have to.”

“It’s not only that,” Steve said, shoulders hunching in even more. “I can’t go back there. I kept seeing him everywhere. I’d walk past his apartment, and I’d stop in his doorway before I could remember that nobody would answer.” He bit his lip and inhaled a slow breath, blinking rapidly. “I’d hate myself for forgetting that he died, and then hate myself for remembering too.”

Natasha didn’t say anything, just kept the steady pressure at the top of his spine.

“I just didn’t want to face the day when it stopped being an instinct to stop by his door.”

“So you ran away from the door,” Nat surmised.

Steve shook his head, all out of words by this point.

“That’s okay,” she said as she withdrew her hand. “I ran away too, across an ocean. Sometimes it still doesn’t feel like I got far enough away from her memory.”

Steve turned to look at her, but couldn’t get a good read on her face. “Did you ever go back?”

“Yes,” Nat said shortly. She smiled and raised a hand to brush her hair out of her face. “I was the only one that remembered her at all.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, feeing inadequate.

Nat’s eyes glimmered. “They remember her now, and that has to be enough.”

Steve picked his coffee back up and drained it. The bitterness stuck to his tongue, and he wiped at his eyes surreptitiously, not sure why he even bothered because Nat saw everything.

“How is everyone doing?” Steve asked in a blatant attempt to change the subject.

“Good, more or less,” Nat said. “Clint’s baby is finally home – she had some sort of complication and had to stay in the NICU. Tony’s been avoiding Pepper even more than usual because of the wedding stuff she needs his input on.”

“Good sign,” Steve said before he could stop himself.

Nat shrugged. “It’s always been like that with them. Wanda and Pietro have been settling in. They’re even younger than you when you started.”

“I always liked Wanda.”

“She did mention that she knew you from SHIELD,” Nat said. “Do you mind if I bring her up here sometime? She said she’d like to see you.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Great, we’ll have a girls trip,” Nat said with a smile. “Leave Pietro with the boys.”

They talked a little more about Wanda and Pietro and their involvement with the team. Steve only knew a little, a rundown of their complete tactical assets from his part-time consulting work with SHIELD. Sometimes Tony mentioned them in his texts to Steve that he sent at random intervals every couple of weeks, but mostly it was to complain of Pietro, who could talk back to him at speeds previously unknown to man.

Eventually they moved on to non-work related topics. Over dinner, Nat endured too many updates on the state of Steve’s garden and his troubles with an honest-to-god potato blight.

When they turned in for the night, Steve briefly worried that the wolf would show up at their usual time in the small hours in the morning, but he was too exhausted by Nat’s company for it to keep him up. He fell into a deep sleep, and before he knew what was happening, found himself at a familiar dog park.

He hadn’t had this dream in too long.

He gingerly picked his way down the steep slope, eyes never leaving the head of dark hair waiting for him at the bottom. Bucky was wearing a red shirt that stretched tight against his chest, and jeans already caked with soil and grass stains. His face was tilted up to catch some of the sun shining down, and his bare hands were buried in the soft loam that would normally be covered in dog shit. But this was a dream, so nothing mattered.

“Hey Buck,” Steve said softly.

Bucky turned, smiled at him, and Steve’s heart turned over in his chest. “Hey Steve. Been a while, hasn’t it?”

Steve pushed away the memories of previous dreams, of Bucky trapped and calling for Steve under a mountain of rubble. “Too long,” Steve choked out. He reached forward and grasped Bucky’s shoulder as he lowered himself down to sit, quietly reveling in the solid feel of him.

Bucky scooted over closer, placing his dirt-covered hand on top of Steve’s. He peered into his face, blue eyes wide and slightly disbelieving. “I can’t believe it.”

“What?” Steve asked.

“That you’re here.”

“Pretty sure that should be my line,” Steve muttered. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s hand tightened on top of his. “For what? You got nothing to be sorry for.”

And Steve ached, because that just wasn’t true. “For leaving. For not saving you.”

“Not everyone can be saved,” Bucky said quietly. “C’mon, you know this.”

“You’re not everyone,” Steve said fiercely.

Bucky sighed. “So you’re not taking care of yourself.”

“Why would you say that?” Steve ground out. He was well aware that he was arguing with himself, that this dream Bucky was just repeating Nat’s words to Steve from earlier. But he was going to take what this lucid dream gave him, no questions asked. If Steve changed one thing, who knows if he’d next find himself watching Bucky whip out of sight and out of reach down that elevator shaft.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” Bucky said gently. “You haven’t been on your own since you with thirteen, filled with spit and vinegar for anyone who got too close. You want to go back to that?”

“I’m not – I wouldn’t –” Steve started. “I have Sam,” he said weakly.

Bucky didn’t look satisfied. “One friend?”

“He’s a good one,” Steve protested.

“Good. You need at least one.”

Steve swallowed, blinking away the water that was slowly filling his eyes. “I had the best one. Not sure how to move on that.”

“Well, you’d better figure that out, pal,” Bucky said smartly.

“I can’t just replace you, Buck,” Steve said, his breathing ragged. “After a lifetime, you’re just gone, and it’s been really fucking hard.”

Bucky reached over, tangled a hand in Steve’s hair, pulled him close, and pressed a wet kiss to his forehead. “You’ll manage. Nobody’s as stubborn as you when you put your mind to it.”

“And that’s… okay?” Steve asked, cringing as the admission came out.

Bucky didn’t answer at once. He stared at Steve, his expression soft and open. “Steve, listen to me. We had a great run, the best one I could’ve ever dreamed of. Sure, it was a little shorter than I would’ve liked, but we take what we’re given and ignore the regrets.”

“You don’t have regrets?” Steve asked.

“Course I do. You’re ruining my Yoda moment,” Bucky grumbled as he ducked his head. “I was on a roll, wisdom sprouting left, right, and center. You couldn’t let me have my moment?”

“You’re such a jerk,” Steve said as he bumped Bucky’s shoulder with his. “Wisdom? I think you mean bullshit.”

Bucky chuckled. “Punk.”

Steve sobered as he looked around the dog park. They hadn’t been to the real one in years, since their first year with the Avengers. They’d been too busy afterwards, between preparing for missions and going on missions, and keeping the team running smoothly. After he left the Avengers, Steve hadn’t even tried to visit.

“It’s weird without the dogs,” Steve said after a moment. “I don’t think this place has ever been this quiet.”

“I thought you’d be used to it by now,” Bucky said, side eyeing Steve. “You know, the quiet, too much nature, too much dirt everywhere.”

“No,” Steve said as he fiddled with the grass by his knee. “That was you. I’ve always been a city boy.”

Bucky frowned. “Then what the hell are you doing in the middle of bumfuck nowhere? You don’t need to honor my memory by being a fucking martyr, Steve.”

“I – I’m not,” Steve said unconvincingly.

Bucky let out a lough sigh of disapproval. “You’re killing me here,” he muttered as he ran a hand through his hair irritably. “Not that I’d expect anything less from you.”

Steve scowled. “It’s more of a penance thing than a martyr thing,” he muttered.

“I’ll say it one more time, since it’s not getting through that thick skull of yours,” Bucky hissed, finger pointed threateningly in Steve’s face. “You don’t have to do penance for anything. What went down in Chicago was not your fault. It was not my fault. Do you know whose fault it is? HYDRA’s.” He wrapped an arm around Steve and squeezed. “Not your fault,” he murmured again.

Steve nodded, although he still couldn’t completely bring himself to believe Bucky’s words. There was little point in arguing with his own subconscious. “It’s been good for me,” he said slowly. “Getting away from everything. I needed a break.”

“You do tend to run yourself to the ground, even with me watching your six,” Bucky agreed with a grin. “At least you manage to keep out of trouble in bumfuck nowhere. No bullies to punch out?”

Steve laughed. “Well, I did have a problem with a wolf a month ago, believe it or not. Turned out – Buck?” Steve reached over, anxiety spiking, as Bucky’s face drained of all color.

Bucky raised a shaky hand to his head, eyes wide and unfocused as Steve shook his arm to draw him back from whatever he was seeing.

“Bucky?” Steve tried again. “No, no, no,” he murmured, jumping to his feet as the dog park swirled away in a wash of color to be replaced with the cracked and ruined basement of the RFO offices in Chicago. Bucky’s silver illuminating charm replaced the sun that had been shining brightly overhead.

“Bucky!” Steve whirled around, blood pounding in his ears and heart jumping to his throat.

A cough sounded behind him. “Right here,” Bucky said right before he inhaled a lungful of concrete dust and began coughing even more violently.

Steve pounded on his back, and Bucky straightened, eyes watering slightly. “I remembered…” he drifted, blinking harder, brows furrowing.

The floor quivered warningly, and Steve glanced around. “Yeah?” he prompted.

“The mission – Nat’s going on a mission to DC, to look at Pierce and HYDRA,” Bucky said slowly. “The piece you’re missing – the riots are HYDRA’s work. They want people to be scared. It’s not magic, it’s scare tactics and fear mongering. They want all the familiars tagged and in once place. That’s why they want magical communities separate from the humans.”

An earsplitting crack overhead made Steve recoil, but Bucky continued as if he hadn’t heard or seen a thing. “It’s the only way they can push through their revolution.”

“What revolution?” Steve demanded.

Pieces of the ceiling rained down. A cloud of dust coated every inch of them, but still Bucky kept talking. “Pierce wants familiars in power,” he said, speaking faster now as he stared blankly at the far wall. “The humans have ruled for too long. Witches have already been recognized for their worth. They have the records to find familiars now. They were doing experiments to boost familiars’ magic, twice that of witches, and more. It wasn’t trafficking to familiar-less witches. They all went to HYDRA’s labs. Blood magic to bind the power and mind magic to make them forget.”

The floor rumbled beneath their feet and Steve nearly fell over. “Bucky, what?” he said uncertainly, but Bucky wasn’t done.

“Pierce will authorize it to make it legal, tell everyone that the familiars need to be able to defend themselves against the human onslaught.” Bucky’s eyes were wide as he met Steve’s startled gaze. “You’ve got to tell-”

The building shook dangerously, and Bucky broke off. The quaking didn’t stop, and Steve’s entire body vibrated with it. He lost his footing, was going to be sent tumbling to the floor.

He woke up.

Steve blinked, and Nat removed her hand from where she had been shaking his shoulder to wake him. “It looked like you were having a nightmare. Were about to fall off the couch,” she said, biting her lip. “It didn’t sound good.”

Steve groaned and sat up. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said brusquely. “Nightmares are part of the job description.”

“Not an Avenger anymore.”

“Says you.”

Steve smiled weakly up at her. “I – I think I might know why HYDRA is behind those anti-magic riots.” He parroted back Bucky’s words that were starting to fade before he could forget.

“Well, that’s certainly a theory,” Nat said as she leaned back once he was done. “You got all of that from a dream?”

“Bucky told me,” Steve said, feeling stupid as soon as he said it.

Nat’s smile was understanding. “Then we’ll be sure to follow up on it.”

* * *

The wolf showed up again that evening. No sooner had Steve put burgers on the grill than he felt a furry head brush against his thigh.

Luckily, nobody was around to hear Steve’s manly shriek as he jumped nearly a foot in the air.

At least he didn’t upend the grill while he was it.

The wolf looked the same as ever in daylight as it did at four in the morning, gleaming yellow eyes, thick fur, gigantic paws. It circled once around the grill, nose sniffing the air hopefully. After its circuit, it sat down on its haunches and stared at Steve, panting lightly in the heat.

Steve frowned. He warningly pointed his spatula at the wolf, who went a little cross-eyed to keep it in view. “I’m not feeding you. You’ve survived well enough on your own. Go catch a deer or something. You don’t need my hard-earned food.”

The wolf licked the spatula with its long pink tongue.

Steve threw up his hands. “Great. Now, I have to clean this off.”

He stalked back into the house, grumbling to himself as he heard the tell-tale click of four sets of nails on wood behind him. “Sure, make yourself at home,” Steve muttered as he stuck the spatula under the tap. “It’s not like I don’t have room for an animal that requires 14 square miles of territory.”

The wolf didn’t respond.

Steve checked his phone once his spatula was cleaned of wolf spit, but Nat hadn’t sent any new texts other than she’d made it back to New York safely.

The wolf stayed with him for the rest of the evening. It didn’t quite lay at his feet, but it stayed damn close by. Every time Steve looked up, the wolf was less than three feet away, laying in a patch of dying sun by the window, or else curled up by the foot of the bed, tail to nose as it dozed. When Steve climbed into bed, the wolf climbed right up alongside him and resumed its nap. Unnerved, Steve took longer than normal to fall asleep.

He didn’t have any lucid dreams that night, and instead dreamed that he was strapped to a lab table. He screamed as doctors in scrubs and face masks sawed off his left arm.

The wolf was still there when he woke up, and didn’t leave after that either. Steve got used to having the wolf as his shadow as he went about his daily tasks, checking emails and doing consulting work in the morning, eating lunch in the afternoon, gardening in the late afternoon, and eating an early dinner in the evening. When he settled in for the night, his current book on history propped open on his chest, the wolf even settled on top of his feet and went to sleep.

He ran into his first problem when he realized he’d put off his weekly grocery visits. His last one had been days before Nat had visited.

Late Sunday night, he drove over to Sam’s twenty minutes before closing. He waited in the car for a moment before he went in, frowning as he shared a look with his companion sitting upright in the front seat. Jaw set, Steve opened the door and climbed out.

“Hey Steve - Jesus fucking Christ!” Sam jumped back as Steve poked his head into the store to see if anyone was in there and, finding it empty, opened the door a bit wider to let the wolf in first.

“Hi Sam,” Steve said with a wide grin.

“Have you completely lost it?” Sam yelped, backing up as far behind the counter as he could.

“It’s fine,” Steve said as he reached down to pat the wolf’s head.

“You and I have a very different definition of fine,” Sam said resolutely as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Hold on,” Steve said as he strode forward. “No need to call the cops or animal control. He’s not going to attack anyone.”

“You sure about that?” Sam asked warily, his eyes never leaving the wolf that was sniffing the bread aisle interestedly.

“Yeah.”

Sam let out a slow breath. He crossed his arms across his chest. “Do I need to put a sign on the door that says No Shirt, No Shoes, No Wild Animals, No Service?”

“No,” Steve said forcefully.

“Hang on.” Sam squinted at him. “Is this the one that bit you?”

Steve bit his lip.

“Steve!”

“Yes, but he didn’t mean it,” Steve said hurriedly.

Sam went nearly apoplectic and swore colorfully under his breath. “It should be put down! Not waltzing into general stores!”

Steve’s eyes narrowed as the wolf paused in its perusal of the candy aisle and turned to stare at Sam. “He’s not a wolf,” he tried to explain.

Sam gawked at him. “You took one too many spells to the head, man.”

Steve sighed. “He’s a familiar.”

Sam didn’t look convinced. “A familiar that bit you,” he added pointedly.

“He was having an off day.”

Sam closed his eyes as if praying for patience. “You are you going to be the death of me, Steve Rogers.”

Steve snorted. “I couldn’t leave him behind.”

“Yes, you could have,” Sam shot back. “There was absolutely no need for your pet wolf to accompany you on a grocery run, Steve! People leave their little yappy dogs home when they have errands all the time. If they can survive an hour alone, so can your overgrown Labrador.” He huffed. “I see why you refused Sharon’s puppy. Clearly you already have a dog.”

“He’s not my dog,” Steve protested.

“You wanna put money on that?” Sam asked as he watched the wolf pant outside the refrigerator door that held meats and cheeses. “I got dog food in the back. I’ll charge you double ‘cause you’re my friend and you just gave me a heart attack.”

“You’re the best,” Steve said distractedly as he bent down to pick up a grocery basket. “I’ll be real quick, I promise.”

When Steve had finished stocking up on essentials in record time, plus extra hamburger, Sam asked conversationally, “Has anyone told you you’re completely insane?” He held up a hand before Steve could respond, unabashedly staring at the wolf that came up to Steve’s hips. “Did he just roll his eyes at me?”

Steve snorted. “Probably. It’s better if you think of him as a person, really. Familiars are more like people than animals.”

“Yeah, tell that to the direwolf over there,” Sam muttered. “That’ll be $16.14.”

Steve gave Sam his card and picked up the two grocery bags.

“Aw hell,” Sam said as the wolf sat down to scratch at something on his belly. “You’d better not be getting wolf hair over my clean floor. Have you checked him for fleas?”

The wolf sat up and growled.

Steve placed a hand reassuringly on the wolf’s head and sighed. “He’s not a dog, Sam.”

“Wolves can’t get fleas?” Sam asked, eyebrows raised. “He’s not a cat either. Cats get fleas. Everything can get fleas.”

Steve didn’t even bother to reply on his way out.

* * *

Nat called days later after they’d bore through the worst of the fallout from their mission to DC. To Steve’s utter surprise, all the evidence the Avengers found supported his dream theory. Most of SHIELD had been compromised, as it turned out, and it would take weeks to wade through who was secretly HYDRA. Until then, everyone on active duty was pulled back to desk jobs, Tony personally changed all the passwords that unlocked anything higher than a Level 2 security, and Fury was made the interim Department of Magic director. The Avengers, the smallest of SHIELD’s team, were vetted first and already determined in the clear. It looked like most of the Guardians checked out, but it was going to take a year to get through all the X-Men.

Most of HYDRA was razed to the ground. The rest was put on the internet for all to see.

Pierce was in custody.

Steve watched the press conference that evening at Sam’s house, nursing a glass of whiskey that he barely touched. When he cried as Pierce was led away in cuffs with a court date set sometime next year, Sam pretended not to notice.

It would still take years to subdue the fear of those with magic and heal from the lives lost to hatred, but it was a start.

He got drunk that night in his own home, vacillating between rants to the wolf about Pierce and tearful reminisces about his early years with Bucky when it was just the two of them, before the Commandos, before the Avengers, before he died and took Steve’s heart along with him.

He even took down Bucky’s model quinjet that they had made in middle school, the one Tony had shipped up to him on his one-year anniversary as an ex-Avenger. He hadn’t talked to Tony for a month, only childishly told Nat to tell him to _fuck off_ if Tony asked. Steve couldn’t bring himself to throw the model out or even ship it back to New York. Instead, he kept it on top of one of kitchen cabinets, mostly tucked away out of sight, at the same height as the rafters in the ceiling.

He took it now, nearly losing his footing as he clambered up on the counter to reach it. The wolf watched him warily, yellow eyes following his every movement as he cradled the model to the bed. He sat down cross legged across from it, trailing a hand down the wing that Tony had signed in scrawled sharpie. Tony’s post-it note was still attached:

_“I think Bucky would want you to have this to remember him by since you took off with only a stupid duffel bag.”_

Trust Tony to send Steve a memento of his dead familiar’s memory that was really just an homage to Tony’s genius.

Steve crumpled up the note, frowning as the wolf jumped up on bed next to him and sniffed at the cockpit of the plane and down one wing curiously. He glanced back at Steve once he’d had his fill, who just sighed.

“Bucky made it,” Steve explained, “For a science fair in eighth grade. It was one of Tony’s first designs after he took over Stark Industries from his father.”

The wolf laid his head down in Steve’s lap, and Steve ran a hand down his furry nose idly.

“It took forever. Bucky nearly superglued his fingers together,” Steve remembered, a heavy feeling settling as his chest. “Ma said she’d separate us at one point because we couldn’t agree on what materials to use, and who should make what. We’re – were – both sort of control freaks.” Steve swallowed. “Ma said she’d never met someone who was more pigheaded than me before Bucky came along.”

The wolf chuffed a sigh and leaned further into Steve’s side. His prickly fur dug into Steve’s thigh through his thin pajama pants, but he didn’t mind. His warm weight was a reassuring presence.

“It’s why I got out of New York, you know,” Steve said with a shrug. “Nobody there could keep up with me anymore.”

The joke fell flat, not that Steve had expected anything else.

In the middle of the night, Steve sat up, winded and shaking like he’d just run a marathon. He reached over to the other side of the bed and dug his fingers into the thick undercoat of the wolf’s fur, grounding himself as he calmed down. The wolf stirred a little, licking his lips and blinking sleepily at Steve in the dark. He yawned, showing off his impressive set of canines, and settled back down.

Steve couldn’t close his eyes, couldn’t lay there in the dark and see Bucky fall away from him again.

He turned to the wolf, who was watching him beadily. His steady gaze had long since ceased to unsettle Steve. “Why hasn’t anyone come looking for you?” he asked rhetorically.

Predictably, the wolf didn’t answer.

“I can’t tell if your Bonded or not,” Steve said slowly, “but if you aren’t, then I owe it to you to tell you that I’m not looking to Bond with another familiar.” He watched for a reaction, heart breaking slightly as he forced the words out. He’d miss the wolf, the steady company he provided, but that wasn’t a good enough reason to string him along if he was hoping for something that would never happen. Steve had stood on his own before. He’d been giving it his best effort, before the wolf came along.

The wolf made a huffing sort of sound, but didn’t comment further.

“I-it’s not a matter of timing,” Steve continued. “I don’t think I’m ever going to Bond again. My last familiar – he died.”

Silence reigned.

Steve swallowed. “As you can see, it hit me pretty hard. Not that those sort of things are supposed to be easy. His last words to me were ‘I love you.’” He rolled over to stare at the ceiling. “I never got to say the words back. I was so angry for so long that he got that sort of closure but I never did.”

The wolf crawled closer so his head was resting on Steve’s chest. Absently, Steve raised a hand to pet his head, run his fingers along the soft, thinner fur lining his ears. Eventually Steve fell back asleep, drifting off only to appear, wide-eyed at the base of the Cyclone on Coney Island.

He spotted Bucky’s head of brown hair immediately, waiting for him at the end of the line for the Cyclone. “Steve!” he called, waving for his attention.

Steve made his way over, a grin spreading across his face. “Hey Buck.” It had been a long two weeks since he’d dreamed of a Bucky not being crushed to death, or suffocating to death, or simply vanishing into the abyss.

“Got you something,” Bucky said, eyes sparkling as he held out a cone of cotton candy that he pulled from behind his back. “A snack while we wait.”

Steve took it, his fingers tingling where they touched Bucky’s. He pulled at a piece, light as a ball of cotton, and popped it in his mouth, waiting for the burst of pure blue-flavored sugar.

It never came.

He closed his eyes.

It was all a dream. Nothing tasted or smelled right in a dream. Nothing was real.

Steve hadn’t thought of Coney Island in years. He hadn’t been to the park since early high school, dragged along on some double-date with Bucky and his girlfriend-of-the-week. This dreamscape of Coney Island was crowded, full of generic people whose faces faded from memory as soon as Steve looked away. Smells were muted, just the barest hint of fried food from the nearby stands and salt off the sea.

He opened his eyes to see Bucky staring at him, his face a mask of concern. “You okay? I thought you liked-”

“No, I do,” Steve said quickly, not even sure why he was playing along now that the strings controlling the puppet had been revealed. “It’s great, Buck.”

Bucky rocked back on his heels, unconvinced. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Steve said firmly.

Bucky craned his head as he counted the featureless people in front of them. “It’ll be ages before we make it to the front.”

“Probably.”

“How’re you doing?”

Steve sighed, shoulders drooping at the small talk. “Why are we here?”

“Because the Cyclone is our thing even though I hate heights and you hate sudden drops?” Bucky tried fruitlessly. He crossed his arms across his chest. “And you’re fucking with me if you say we’re stepping even one foot on the Wonder Wheel. Either we both have to suffer or not at all.”

Steve shook his head. “No,” he said morosely. “Why Coney Island? Why not the dog park? Why not that fucking basement in Chicago?”

“Because I wanted a change in scenery?” Bucky tried. “The dog park is boring with no dogs, and I don’t have a fucking clue why you’d bring up Chicago, so I’m not going to comment on that.” He licked his lips, glancing away and up at the first drop as he drummed his fingers on the metal railing corralling them in line. “Plus, this is where I realized I was in love with you,” he added, eyes soft. “And I wanted to bring you here on our first date. Romantic, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve said as he swallowed down the lump in his throat. “Romantic.”

“I figured,” Bucky said cheerily. “I’ve been keeping this to myself for so long, you have no idea.”

Steve laughed, and the sound seemed off to his own ears, shallow and pained. “I have some clue.”

“Oh you do, do you?” Bucky asked, eyebrows raised. “Did you know that I wanted our first kiss to be on top of the first drop?” He pointed, and Steve squinted up past the awning covering the lie to peer at the spot several stories above them. “But then you had to swoop in and kiss me first, so there’s that dream, dashed.”

Steve poked at the cotton candy, pinching parts into spikes. “Sorry to steal your thunder.”

Bucky shook his head at his apology. “It was a teenager’s pipedream. The real way it happened was much better, don’t worry. Less cheesy, more fruity.”

Steve hadn’t eaten a single banana in over a year. He couldn’t even stomach the sight of them.

“Now be honest, Steve,” Bucky said seriously as he turned to Steve. “After this, are you going to throw up? Because maybe we’ll skip the Cyclone this time around if you think I’ll be wearing your dinner later.”

Steve hesitated. He’d never gotten motion sick in dreams before. “Probably not.”

“Great!” Bucky said. “Maybe this’ll be the start of our new thing. You not throwing up on me.” He rubbed his hands together like a little kid. “What do you say, want to be daring? Go for the front car?”

Steve plucked a tuft of tasteless cotton candy. It dissolved into ash on his tongue. “Whatever you want, Buck,” he said once he’d swallowed.

Bucky nodded once as he thought it over. “Although tempting, I think we’d better not risk it.”

Steve’s clenched fist crumpled the paper cotton candy cone he was holding, and Bucky grabbed hold of it before it could fall to the ground. He opened his mouth to scold Steve for his carelessness, but Steve plowed right over him, “No, stop. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I can’t keep pretending that it’s really you telling me all this, that I’d ever know when Bucky fell in love with me or where he’d take me on our first date. And I’m so fucking sorry that none of this is real because Bucky’s dead.”

“But Steve-”

“No, I can’t,” Steve said through clenched teeth as he stormed out of the line. “I don’t know why my head keeps doing this, absolving me of everything. It’s not working!”

“Who the hell are you yelling at?” Bucky asked as he caught up. “You jackass, of course I’d absolve you? You sound ridiculous by the way. Who the hell says ‘absolve’ anymore?”

Steve glared at him. “Not the point.”

“No, the point is that you’re being even stupider than normal,” Bucky said. “This,” he waved his arm around the blurry outline of the rest of Coney Island, “Is not real. I am. Focus on that.”

Steve laughed humorlessly. “How can I focus on anything but you, Bucky? You were my whole world.”

Bucky laughed, short but sincere. “You’re such a sap.”

Steve inhaled sharply at the gentle rebuke. It would’ve been better if Bucky lost his temper or acted out of character. But he wouldn’t, because Steve knew Bucky too well. His Coney Island Bucky was perfect; the most wonderful, realistic boyfriend Steve could dream up. Part of him that wanted nothing more than to grab ahold of Bucky and never let go, never wake up.

Bucky reached out a hand to squeeze Steve’s arm, but Steve shook him off before he could get a good grip. “I can’t-”

“Since when have you let someone tell you that you couldn’t do something?” Bucky said, his temper rising to match Steve’s. “The Steve that I knew didn’t consider ‘I can’t’ part of his vocabulary!”

Steve blurted, “The Steve you knew died in that fucking basement along with you!”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re so goddamn dramatic – you’re not dead; I’m not dead,” he said confidently.

Steve’s mouth fell open. “I don’t get it,” he said, quiet. “You knew you were dead last time I had this dream. Why are you being like this?”

“Let’s just say I remembered a little bit more since last time, and I am not dead,” Bucky said in a final sort of voice.

Steve snorted. “Now who sounds ridiculous? I can’t go down that path again. I thought you were alive for months, searched everywhere - but you’re dead, Buck,” he said, his voice breaking on his name. “I went to your funeral. I saw your body. And I love you, but I can’t keep pretending that you’ll be there when I wake up. I’ve done it for a year already, don’t make me do it again.”

“But Steve-” Bucky broke off, tilting his head as a small smile played across his lips. “I love you too.”

Steve shook his head violently. “Stop. Please, just stop. I’ll do anything, just let me be, okay? I’m trying to get better. I’m trying to be a real person.” He shut his eyes against Bucky’s earnest face. “I’ve got Sam, I’ve got Nat. I can survive without you. I have to. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“It doesn’t have to be hard at all, you don’t-”

But Steve had heard enough. He wrenched himself out of the dream.

He lay there for a split second before he reached out instinctively for the furry body beside him. The wolf jerked awake, snarling and snapping at Steve’s outstretched hand.

Steve recoiled automatically, heart jumping to his throat.

The wolf got to his feet, a little wobbly on the bedcovers, and leapt lightly down to the floor. He paused in front of the door, and Steve heard the lock click before the door opened. He watched the wolf disappear into the night without a word.

Only when he was sure that the wolf was out of earshot, did Steve let out the breath he had been holding. He let his face fall into his hands, eyes squeezed tight shut to block everything out.

* * *

Steve started to worry two days after not seeing the wolf. He even called Sam, asked him to keep an ear to the ground if people suddenly had wolf sightings on their property. He did the right thing when he told the familiar that he wasn’t going to Bond; he had known that the wolf was going to leave. It didn’t do anything to lessen his worry.

Nat had been lounging on Steve’s porch for two hours before she asked him if he was alright.

“I’m fine,” Steve said shortly, and he could practically hear her eye roll even as she stared straight ahead at tomato plants, nearly wilting in the early July heat.

“And I’m the last tsarina of Russia,” Nat scoffed. “What’s going on, Rogers?”

“Nothing,” Steve said stubbornly.

Nat crossed her arms across her chest. “You haven’t offered me a drink since I got here. If something’s driven your manners from you, then it’s got to be pretty fucking huge. Come on, share. I don’t bite.”

Steve raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment.

“Is it about that familiar that’s been hanging around for the past two months that I have yet to see hide or hair of?” she asked.

Steve fought to keep his face neutral. “Sam?”

“Sam,” she confirmed. “He’s worried about you.”

“He’s always worried about me. He worries – that’s his thing. He worries about Sharon’s calves too.”

“I hope you are talking about bovines and not the legs of the attractive farmer down the road,” Nat said delicately.

Steve frowned. “You’ve got him wrapped around your finger. Just like the rest of us. Don’t play coy.”

Nat huffed and dragged her lawn chair around to face Steve properly. “That’s enough. What’s up with you? I thought having someone around would be good for you.”

“It was. But…”

“But what?” Nat prompted, her green eyes large with concern as she stared up at him.

“I haven’t seen him for almost a week,” Steve admitted. “Last time I saw him, I told him that I wouldn’t Bond again. And I get why he’d want to leave after that.”

Nat’s brows drew together in concern. “And you miss him?”

“Kind of,” Steve said hesitantly. “I just hope he’s okay. There’s something wrong with him, Nat. I could sense it.”

“Steve,” Nat said patiently, the corners of her mouth quirking up into a half-smile. “You couldn’t sense the side of a barn door if it hit you in a hurricane. Especially now.”

Steve kicked her ankle. “Not talking about magic sense,” he said, hands up. “He bit me the first time I saw him. He couldn’t or wouldn’t transform from his familiar form. That’s not right, right?”

“It certainly is unusual,” Nat said slowly. “But I make it a habit to surround myself with unusual witches and familiars, so I’d be the first to say that my judgement is compromised.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, grimacing as caught sight of his dirty hand. Nat laughed. “I thought familiar form something that familiars only take under pressure. Part of flight or fight. What the hell could be threatening here?” He spread his arms wide. “I mean, there’s the occasional bear. But a bear’s not a challenge to a wolf familiar. I’m practically human, and I only nearly shot him on that first night.”

Nat shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. I could track him. Sam said he sheds like crazy. Shouldn’t be too hard to whip up a tracking spell.”

Steve’s expression turned bitter. “I don’t want to drag him back here if he doesn’t want to be here.”

Nat got up. “You want something to drink? I think I saw a bottle of whiskey in there.”

“Sam gave it to me,” Steve said. “Early birthday present.”

Nat surveyed him thoughtfully as she stepped into the shade of the cabin’s interior. “Okay don’t get mad at me. I haven’t brought it up in a while, but do you want to come back to the Tower for the Fourth? Tony’s planning this huge party. I already invited Sam – he’ll close up the store at four. Tony will send a chopper. It might be good for you.”

Steve looked up at her. He thought it over. “I think you might be right.”

Nat didn’t bother to hide her surprise. She smiled. “Then we definitely deserve a drink.”

When she emerged, two tumblers filled with ice and whiskey in her hands, Steve took one from her gratefully.

“I also wanted to get you out of here,” Nat said once Steve had taken a couple sips.

“Nat,” Steve started as he set his glass down. “I’ve told you a million times, I’m good-”

“No, I have a reason beyond your general happiness,” Nat interrupted, her face falling into a serious expression. “There were sightings last weekend. In a bank in Edmundston,” she tipped her whiskey back, “of the Winter Soldier.”

“What?” Steve’s current train of thought ground to a halt. “I thought HYDRA was gone.”

“As gone as they’ll ever be,” Nat agreed. “You can see my concern.”

“That’s only twenty miles away. What the hell is he doing in Edmunston?” Steve stared at his driveway, unseeing, as his brain whirled.

“We have a hunch,” Nat said slowly. At Steve’s pointed look, she said quietly, “We think he’s going to go after you.”

“What the hell? What could he possibly want with me?”

“You’re an Avenger, and the most vulnerable since you don’t live in the Tower,” Nat said. “Maybe he wants to use you as leverage against the rest of us. We think he’ll want revenge for the fall of HYDRA.”

“Naturally,” Steve said for lack of anything else to say. He drained his whiskey, and Nat poured another.

“We won’t keep you at the Tower,” she said. “We’re not jailers, but we want you to be on the ready and prepared. While the Winter Soldier’s still at large, I’ll up my visits to weekly. Tony’ll come by too, and Clint. Bruce is a little up in the air, but if anyone can convince him to take a Science Bros road trip, it’ll be Tony.”

Steve set his glass down, floored. “You guys – you don’t have to do all that.”

“Of course we do,” Nat said resolutely. “I think we could all do with a vacation. Since DC, things have died down and everyone’s a bit wary of missions until intel has been verified at least ten times.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, blushing. “That’s really – thank you.”

Nat toasted him with her glass. “The things we do for you, Rogers. All I’m asking is for a picture of Tony picking Brussels sprouts. That’s it. Very small price to pay for my valuable protection services.”

Steve snorted. “I won’t give you blackmail material on Tony. You can find that easily enough for yourself.”

Nat laughed. “But corrupting you is so much more fun.”

“Speaking of corruption, what’s going on between you and Sam?” Steve asked.

Nat shrugged. “We’re having fun, I suppose. Nothing serious, or anything like that.”

“You once said you were better off alone,” Steve said.

“That was almost three years ago.” Nat nudged Steve’s glass closer to him. “And you know better than most that whoever says they’re ‘better off alone’ is lying to themselves.”

Steve didn’t refute her statement. “Just, don’t up and leave him one day, will you?” He didn’t look at her as he sipped his drink.  “He’s been through a lot, and he doesn’t deserve that from anyone.”

“Steve Rogers,” Nat said as she stared at him. “Are you giving the me the shovel talk?”

Steve squirmed in his seat. “I – no?”

“You are!” She laughed, delighted.

“Sam can handle himself, but I’m just asking you to see it through to the end, whenever that may be,” he said diplomatically, face red.

She ribbed him some more about his friendship with Sam, and Sam even stopped by later in the evening for dinner, bringing homemade pie. When it came time for Nat to go the next morning, she made him promise to get his ass to New York in 48 hours, and handed him his shield that Tony had made him.

“Here,” she said as they stood in the driveway by her car. “Tony says it should keep you safe.”

“Excuse me?” Steve asked as he hefted it further up his arm. The weight settled comfortably.

Nat threw him a disbelieving look as she explained, “Tony put all the usual stuff in this, and about a billion amplification spells besides to make up for your magic. It should do the trick for two days, keep the Winter Soldier at bay.”

“Is this…?”

Nat didn’t wait for him to finish his question. “Tony got it out of the rubble in Chicago,” she said quietly.

Steve traced the round rim with one hand, mouth pulled down into a frown. “It’s the last thing he touched.”

“Probably,” Nat said as she shut the trunk without looking at him. “We found it near the body.”

Steve nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Nat warned as she walked to the driver side door.

Steve opened his mouth, words already on his tongue, but he swallowed them back. They weren’t right, not for her. “Have a good trip back,” he said instead.

She smiled and tossed him a lazy salute with her hand before she climbed in her car. “I always do.”

* * *

Steve had hardly finished packing an overnight bag before rapid barking sounded outside.

He froze, ice flooding his veins and heart stopping in his chest. The door burst open, and the wolf skidded in. He stood in front of Steve for a moment, the whites of its eyes showing and back legs shaking minutely.

Steve grabbed the shield and ushered the wolf behind him without another thought. He slammed the door closed with a wave of his hand.

Steve crouched, keeping one eye on the door and the other on the shaking familiar by his hip. “What’s wrong?” he asked, voice pleading. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s going on. What’s after you?” He raised a hand to scratch hard at the fur at the scruff of the neck. He swallowed. “Is it the Winter Soldier?”

The wolf just continued to shake.

“Don’t worry,” Steve said as he glanced once again at the door. He strode over and grabbed his gun, and it felt wholly inadequate in his hands. “You’ll be fine. We’ll both be fine,” he said, mostly to himself. He set his jaw and held his shield higher.

He whipped his head around to stare at the door. “Did I…?” He raised a hand to eye-level and very deliberately sent a locking spell towards the front door. Steve had never been more grateful to hear the click of tumblers sliding into place in his life.

He laughed, loud and relieved, as the wolf looked at him like he was insane. Maybe he was. Maybe this was all some crazy drunken fever dream, where he could really protect someone he cared about.

He sobered as the wolf licked his face. Grimacing, the rapid rush of joy at performing actual magic fade almost as quickly as it had come. He caught the wolf’s unsteady yellow gaze that wouldn’t focus on him. “Come on,” he said grimly. “We’d better-”

The cabin rattled, floorboards creaking, and Steve froze with déjà vu.

The wolf’s pants, harsh and dry, echoed around the cabin unnaturally loudly.

Steve straightened, took one look at the wolf still covering on the floor, and marched determinedly to the window. He peered out, face falling as he caught sight of three men and two women approach the cabin, vivid red and black HYDRA insignias sewn onto their sleeves and determined expressions on all their faces. Steve reached out with his magic, almost gasping in shock as their power flared bright. He was so engrossed in trying to get a read on them that he hardly noticed the wolf approach and stand at his side.

He threw back his head and howled, and Steve barely resisted clapping his hands to his ears. If the panting had been loud, the howl was positively deafening. The hairs on the back of Steve’s neck and arms stood up, and a shiver ran up and down his spine as the cry petered off.

Outside, the HYDRA agents paused, the leader holding up his hand with a shake of his head.

The last three of the group shared uneasy looks.

Steve had seen enough. He couldn’t give them time to regroup. Seizing the wolf’s distraction, he threw open the door with a loud bang that nearly sent it careening off its hinges. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, he zeroed in on the HYDRA leader trampling his pepper plants.

He instinctively reverted to his buried battle instincts, drawing on the power that lay in the familiar standing by his side. Steve threw the simple movement spell forward with as much power as he could muster. The lead HYDRA agent went careening back fifteen feet and sprawling onto the end of the gravel driveway.

The other HYDRA agents didn’t spare a glance for him. So much for taking them down with their leader.

The wolf dropped to a crouch, growling.

Steve felt an almighty tug on his magic, and one of the four remaining HYDRA agents bent double. He let out a terrified cry, and went nearly cross-eyed with pain. He clawed at his temples, drawing blood in seconds.

Steve stared down at the wolf, horrified. “Stop!” he shouted, but the wolf didn’t listen. Steve yanked as much of his magic back as he could. The wolf blinked rapidly for a second, and the HYDRA agent dropped to all fours, tears streaming from his eyes.

Steve threw a knock out spell at him, almost overdoing it in fear. The HYDRA agent fell to the ground and didn’t even twitch.

Meanwhile, the other three had regrouped in a vee formation. They eyed Steve and the wolf far more warily than the others. The one on the right shielded the trio. The one on the left threw out a movement spell of her own between Steve and the wolf, trying to separate them. Steve’s shield blocked her attempts.

The center HYDRA agent made slashing motions with her hand, hurling a barrage of slicing spells at the wolf by Steve’s right side.

Steve instinctively reached over with the shield to block the spells going for the wolf’s throat.

Her next slicing spell got him in his unprotected abdomen.

Swearing under his breath, Steve stepped over the wolf’s crouched body and positioned himself more firmly behind the shield. The wolf was a tight coil of tension. Back straight as an arrow, head pointed forwards, he leant on Steve’s magic to send a burst of something, some spell Steve couldn’t identify in the split second it took to hit and shatter their shields.

Eyes wide and hand shaking in what Steve presumed was fear, the HYDRA agent on the right threw up more shields. The one on the right piled still more on.

Steve could see a stalemate building.

The wolf glanced up at Steve, yellow eyes boring into him as he asked a question without words.

Steve could recognize a plead for trust when he saw one. With a small nod of his head, Steve shoved his magic at the familiar.

The wolf sat back and let loose another howl that could probably be heard for miles around.

The HYDRA agents paused in their heated whispering as clouds rolled over the late afternoon sun. Within seconds, the sky darkened with an incoming storm. Nearby branches groaned as the incoming breeze picked up to gale force winds that nearly lifted one of the HYDRA agents almost off her feet.

Steve nearly staggered where he stood as the weather spell strained his magic. He stood up straight despite the fatigue that had begun to dig deep in his bones.

But the first icy sheet of hail that swept through was like a breath of fresh air.

Steve’s magic sang in his veins as the temperature dropped. The clouds dropped lower as if to hang directly over their heads; the summer storm turned into a blizzard. The snowstorm whipped around the clearing, sending snow and leaves up in miniature whirlwinds that battered HYDRA’s shields.

The agents held their ground. The central agent, hair whipping about her face despite the shields, launched a fireball directly at Steve, which sputtered in the cold and lost its trajectory.

Steve grinned as it scorched the far side of the porch.

The wolf’s tail swayed back and forth in concentration as the snowstorm gathered speed and force. It kept hitting between Steve’s knees, but he didn’t mind.

The central HYDRA agent tried again, this time with a spear of blinding energy that thrummed as bounced off Steve’s shield and rebounded into the surrounding forest.

Steve glanced up through the gap in the trees. The blizzard had cut off all sun, leaving them in near complete darkness. He could barely see the HYDRA agents in front of them, but he could sense their location easily enough.

Steve squinted, power crackling between his fingers. He nudged the wolf’s magic, and it came unspooling into his hands as smooth as silk. He raised his arms palm out, muttered the most powerful weather spell he’d learned, and sent it straight at the cluster of HYDRA agents.

The clearing was lit with a brilliant light as lighting surged up from the ground beneath the agents’ feet to spiral into the clouds above.

Every single snowflake seemed to freeze midair in the flash.

Thunder sounded a split-second later, but by then it was all over.

* * *

“Steve!”

Steve let out a slow breath and turned to see Nat standing in the doorway, her hair a red blaze in the fading afternoon sun. Hand outstretched and fingers splayed, her eyes widened as she took in Steve and the wolf sitting in the middle of the floor, potion kit and blood-stained towel spread-out around them. Clint was perched on her shoulder, beady eyes watching everything.

When Steve had called Nat after tying up the HYDRA agents’ bodies in the getaway car he’d found a couple of yards down the road, he hadn’t expected her to say that she was already on her way. The HYDRA attack had tripped the alert she’d set up for any magical activity at the cabin, and her teleportation spell was already prepped.

“Get back,” she snarled, fingers twitching.

Neither of them moved. Steve even skimmed the room to see if they had missed any HYDRA agents hiding behind the fireplace or under the bed.

“I won’t ask again,” she said, her voice deadly calm. Clint flew high, flapping as he settled on one of the blades of the ceiling fan.

Steve scrambled to his feet. “Wait – no, nobody’s attacking anyone.” He raced to her side and placed a hand on her arm to lower it.

The wolf snarled lightly, but didn’t get up.

“Steve, that’s the Winter Soldier,” Nat said, her eyes never leaving the wolf.

Steve’s head snapped around to stare. “What?” he said disbelievingly.

“The Winter Solider,” Nat repeated. “HYDRA’s main assassin for the past sixteen months. Was spotted in Edmunston several days ago. The reason we wanted you out of here.”

“He’s not the Winter Solider,” Steve said stupidly.

Nat let out an annoyed huff. “I have the intel to prove it.”

“Nat,” Steve said. He deliberately stepped between her and the wolf. Above them, Clint screeched a warning, which Steve ignored. “He just saved my life.”

She didn’t push him out of the way. She met his challenging gaze. “Explain.”

Steve gestured behind him. “He’s been living with me for the past two months. He saved my life twenty minutes ago. Helped me take down HYDRA agents that came here.”

“That can’t be right.”

Steve shrugged. “Even if he’s the Winter Soldier – and I’m not saying I believe you – he wouldn’t hurt me.”

Some of the fire fervor behind Nat’s eyes dimmed, but she didn’t look any less cautious. “You’re sure?”

“I’d bet my life on it,” Steve said as he crossed his arms across his chest. He tried to hide the flicker of pain that flared around his abdomen, but Nat saw right through him.

“Sit,” she directed, tilting her head in the direction of the couch. “You’re injured. Clint will watch the Winter Soldier.”

Steve nodded his assent and gingerly sat down on the couch as Nat picked up the potions kit and resumed mixing his healing salve. “One of the HYDRA agents got me before we knocked him out.”

“We?”

“Me and him,” Steve said, gesturing to the wolf.

“Steve,” Nat began, a frown line appearing between her brows as she looked up from the bowl in her hands. “You barely have magic. How the hell did you take down a HYDRA agent? The shield was supposed to let you hold the fort until we could come.”

“Him,” Steve said, jerking his head behind him. “I have no idea how it happened, but my magic’s back. We took them down together.” He frowned, but not unhappily.

“And you didn’t Bond?” Nat asked suspiciously.

Steve threw her a look, and said dryly, “I think I’d remember Bonding.”

Nat muttered something under her breath that Steve couldn’t catch, and impatiently tugged up the hem of his shirt so she could see the full damage of HYDRA’s slicing spell. “That doesn’t look good.”

Steve shook his head. “I’ve had worse. I’m not going to bleed out.”

“You could get stitches,” Nat said as she looked up. “It’s up to you.”

“Don’t bother,” Steve said with a sigh. “I can live with another scar.”

Nat glanced behind him as she began spreading the salve liberally on the right side of Steve’s abdomen. “How did they get you? The shield should have covered you.”

“I was, uh, busy covering the wolf,” Steve said sheepishly.

Nat punched him in the arm. “Do you have a death wish?”

“No,” Steve protested. “I could take a little slice here. If they got him, that would have hit him in the head.”

Nat rolled her eyes. “You are one stupid man, Steve Rogers.”

Steve sighed. “It’s been said before,” he said glumly.

The wolf’s tail swished against the cabin floor. He looked almost smug.

“How did you perform magic together?” Nat pressed, her hand paused over the bowl of salve.

Steve raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I have no idea.”

Nat looked around the cabin for any clue. Her eyes narrowed as he turned back to Steve, her expression hard. “It wasn’t the shield?” she asked dubiously like she didn’t even believe it.

“The shield is just spelled for my use,” Steve countered. “And I felt him use my magic, stuff I haven’t ever seen before. They just… dropped.”

Nat’s steely gaze locked on his. “Because if you Bonded, then we’d have a problem.”

“We didn’t Bond,” Steve told her, patience wearing thin. “As I’ve told you and him a hundred times, I am not Bonding again. I can’t.”

“It seems you can,” Nat said as she picked out bandages from the potions kit. She didn’t see Steve’s look of outrage.

“I don’t know, maybe it was an accidental Bonding or something!” Steve exploded.

Nat shook her head. “That doesn’t just happen, Steve,” she said as pressed the bandages down. Steve hissed. “You can’t just Bond with a familiar. Blood magic takes intent, or it doesn’t work. That’s the whole point.”

From the far side of the cabin the wolf raised himself to sitting position, watching them warily.

Steve threw his hands in the air and exhaled angrily as the movement tugged on his wound. Nat glared up at him. “Look, I have no idea. Maybe it was an accident; maybe it wasn’t.”

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught Steve’s attention and he didn’t hear Nat’s response. Clint let out a surprised cry that sounded extraordinarily loud in the enclosed cabin. The roll bandages dropped from Nat’s lax fingers.

The wolf had started to shift, slowly and painfully.

Bucky Barnes straightened, raised a pained hand to his temple, and rasped, “Ain’t nothing accidental about it. Took five years to convince you to Bond with me, remember?” He smiled weakly. “Hey, Steve.”


	5. Part V

Steve had never been more thankful that SHIELD had drastically downsized than when he heard what HYDRA had put Bucky through. Head swimming, he blindly stumbled outside the interrogation room that was holding Bucky and Fury. The usually busting corridor was nearly empty.

Tony joined him soon after. “Come on,” he said as he helped Steve to the nearest seat. He placed a firm hand on Steve’s head and guided it almost to his knees.

Steve breathed in and out for a moment. The floor swam in his vision, so he closed his eyes.

“He was tortured,” Steve gasped. “They tortured him, wiped his mind, and forced him to kill.”

Tony’s foot tapped on the floor. “Seems like it,” he said, going for casual and missing by a mile.

Steve’s heart still felt like it was going to pound right out of his chest, but the nausea had faded. He licked his lips, mouth dry, and looked up at Tony, who was resting in the seat next to him, eyes closed and head tipped back to lean against the wall. Steve’s chair creaked as he sat upright.

Tony didn’t open his eyes as he asked, “Are you going to stick with him?”

He missed Steve’s look of pure outrage. “Am I going…?” he echoed, incensed.

Tony’s eyes were slits. “Because it’s going to be rough going for a while, Cap. Maybe forever. He’ll have nightmares, or panic attacks every morning. The slightest thing might set him off, and he could go mute for a week. He could go haywire if left in the dark, like a child. Are you ready for any of that? All of that?”

“It’s Bucky,” Steve said defensively.

Tony nodded to himself. “If you have any trouble, you know who to call.”

“You?” Steve asked, face screwing up as he tried to picture any advice Tony might be able to give him about Bucky.

Tony rolled his eyes. “No, Pepper, you moron.”

“Pepper,” Steve repeated flatly.

“Pepper,” Tony said, smiling slightly as he shut his eyes again and leaned back in his chair. “She’s a real pro at dealing with crazy people day in and day out.” His fingers tapped anxiously against his thigh, though his face remained calm. “Well, one crazy person, at least.”

Steve snorted derisively. “I don’t think dealing with you is exactly the same-”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there,” Tony said as he turned towards Steve, his face deadly serious. “Since you clearly don’t have the whole story. Not that surprising, since I did all I could to wipe the story from existence, and I can do a hell of a lot of wiping on my worst day. Hell, everyone who is involved is dead now, so I’m really the only witness and if I was a real genius, I’d erase the whole episode from my head and be done with it. God knows I would be better off if-”

“Tony,” Steve said, eyes narrowing at the endless rambling. “What the hell are you saying.”

“I am saying,” Tony said quickly, “That Pepper knows people who’ve been tortured, okay?” He exhaled a loud breath.

Steve took a beat to process. “You?” he asked again, blinking at Tony.

Tony gave a tiny nod.

“I – what happened?”

Tony swallowed, eyes darting to the still-closed door of Bucky’s interrogation room. “To make a long story short, I had a run in with kidnappers who wanted me to build them weapons for their witch death squad. I said no. Apparently, that wasn’t an acceptable answer.” He shrugged and jerked his head towards the door. “I didn’t kill anyone with my own hands like he did, but I might as well have. I was with them for four months. He was with them for a year and a half.”

“Was it HYDRA too?”

Tony’s eyes flashed. “Does it matter?” he asked rhetorically. “You still get fucked up in the head, no matter who’s at the other end of the whip.”

“I suppose not,” Steve said quietly, his face burning with Tony’s rebuke. “I’m sorry.”

Tony’s shoulders slumped. “Don’t apologize. I was being an ass.”

“You say that like it’s news,” Steve said, the barest hint of a smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

Tony pulled a face. “See if I ever share my tragic backstory with you again, Rogers.” He raised a hand and it hovered in the air awkwardly for a moment before Tony brought it down to pat Steve’s arm. “It’ll be okay,” he muttered, red-faced. “You’ll, uh, pull through this. You and Balto.”

Steve swallowed, pressing his lips together. Tony was a skilled liar, but evidently talk of his past torture put him off his game.

Tony took one look at Steve’s face and jumped to his feet. “I’ve got to,” he began, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “Wedding, you know. Pepper needs me. Uh, good talk.” He paused, clearly itching to flee. “You okay on your own?”

“Yeah.” Steve cleared his throat and said, his voice a fraction stronger, “I need to wait for Bucky.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “Are you going to go back in there?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said truthfully.

Tony rocked back on the balls of his feet as he thought. “Might be better if you didn’t,” he said slowly. “Then Barnes can tell you what happened to him on his own time.” He shrugged. “That sort of control, he probably hasn’t had a lot of it in the past eighteen months. Just saying.”

Steve let him go with a weary wave of his hand. He could do this.

Tony paused halfway to the elevator that would take him up to street level. “And don’t worry about the assassin thing,” he said. “I’ve got the best lawyers working on getting him, the best my money can buy. And my money goes pretty far.”

“Thanks, Tony.”

Tony shoved his hands in his pockets. “And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re back, Cap. Even if it’s not permanently or anything… it’s good to see you. I just wish it was under better circumstances.”

* * *

Steve was exhausted. He would have stared aimlessly at the wall or read endless news stories on his phone, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything. The fight from that morning blurred with their last mission with Chicago, all interspersed with images of Bucky’s drawn face as they sat side-by-side in the helicopter. It had been too loud to talk, but they exchanged reassuring looks and every so often Bucky squeezed Steve’s hand as if to let him know everything would be alright.

Steve’s brain seemed to screech to a halt as Sam met him, still sitting outside Bucky’s interrogation room twenty minutes after Tony had fled the premises. He nearly did a double take at the incongruous sight of Sam in SHIELD headquarters. 

“Hey,” Sam said gently as he approached. “How’re you holding up?”

“Fine,” Steve said automatically.

Sam pulled an expression like he was ashamed that Steve could ever baldly lie to his face like that.

“I’m a little tired,” Steve admitted after a beat. “Not sure what I’m supposed to be doing.”

Sam snorted. “You think I do? A superspy texts me that I’d better get my ass to New York if I know what’s good for me, and next thing I know, a fucking _helicopter_ is landing in my front yard – and I’m going to get some damages for my squashed tomatoes, see if I won’t – and then you turn up and your wolf-turned-boyfriend. Then next thing I know, I’m a hundred floors in the air and being shown my own room with a view of _Central Park._ What the hell Steve?”

Steve laughed despite himself. “The Avengers take some getting used to.”

“I’m not an Avenger,” Sam said slowly like he thought Steve was being stupid.

Steve shrugged. “Friend of - Same thing.”

Sam just shook his head. “I can’t believe any of this.”

Steve glanced across at the closed door blocking his view of Bucky and Fury. “Neither can I,” he said. He couldn’t help the large sigh that followed. “It’s like a dream, Sam. A terrible, pants-shitting terrible dream.”

“But you got him back,” Sam said, his smile at once happy and sympathetic. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Steve lifted one shoulder in a hopeless gesture. “Tony says he’s going to be… different. HYDRA’s messed him up a lot.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “And did it ever occur to you that you’re way different than he’ll remember too? You thought your best friend that you’ve known half your life died. You mourned him, Steve. You ran away from all of your friends to get rid of seeing him everywhere.”

“Thanks,” Steve said sourly. “Because I was worried that it was going to be too easy to talk to him again.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying, you’ve both changed since that whole mess in Chicago. He’s probably been through more shit than you have, for sure, but that doesn’t mean that your life over the past year has been rainbows and daisies. You’ve both gotten through it, for better or worse, and now you’ve got to find a way to move forward. Hopefully together. Don’t go let him think that he’s been alone in this or that you’re just going to be a supportive bystander. Just talk to him, Steve, it’s as simple and as hard as that.”

Steve’s lip curled up into a wry half-smile. “When’d you get so wise?”

Sam leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Shit, I’ve always been wise as hell. It’s your own damn fault you had your head too far up your depressed ass to notice.”

“Are you going to stay in the Tower?”

Sam froze. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“I thought so too,” Steve said, trying not to sound too eager. “It takes some getting used to, and Tony is for sure a character, but now that Bucky’s back we could-” He broke off as Sam held up a hand, his face more serious than he had been when discussing recovery from torture.

“I think I’m going to have to clear out for a while,” Sam said, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “Me and Natasha – she’s talked about taking a vacation, said she hasn’t had one in years.”

“But-” Steve broke off, unable to say that Sam had been his rock for the past year and he was just now leaving when Steve needed him the most.

Sam’s shoulders slumped. “Look,” he said, meeting Steve’s eyes unflinchingly. “I get that the next couple months are going to be hard for you, but I don’t think I can sit around and watch you and Bucky - I need time to adjust, and I think being with Natasha for a little while can help.”

“I guess so,” Steve said, head bowed.

Sam let out a small noise of frustration as he sat up to fully face Steve. “I can’t sit around and pretend to be okay that you get to reunite with your long-lost love, okay?” He swallowed. “I know myself, and that’s not something I can see and not resent you for… right now. Nat’s the same, probably. She likes to be cryptic but I think she’s in the same boat I am.”

Steve sat in silence for a moment, reading the raw determination in the set of Sam’s brows and his rigidly straight posture that would make air force generals proud. “Of course, I understand,” he said in a mostly-even tone. “You take as much time as you need.”

Sam sighed. “You can always call me, you know?”

“Where will you be going?” Steve asked in a forced-casual tone of voice. “Hawaii? Bahamas?”

Sam scowled. “No, she doesn’t do bikinis for some reason. Eastern Europe, she said. Has some unfinished business.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “Riley’s sister lives in Marseilles. Maybe I can angle for France on the way out. I’ve owed her a visit for a while.”

* * *

Six hours passed between the tense helicopter ride down to New York, and Bucky's exit from interrogation. When he finally emerged, exhaustion emanating from every pore of his body, Steve jumped out of his chair.

Fury nodded at him once in acknowledgement. “He’s all yours, Rogers. Make sure he doesn’t leave Avengers Tower. It would be wise if you didn’t either. We’ll come calling in a couple days once we’ve sorted this shitshow out.”

Without another word, he vanished in a swish of leather.

Steve just looked at Bucky, drinking him in.

Bucky smiled back at him, at once sad and resigned. “We’d better get going,” he said in a low voice. “Unless you have unfinished business here…” he drifted off.

Steve shook his head and the pair of them made their way to street level, where an unmarked black SUV was waiting. It still had a new car smell, and Steve vaguely recognized Tony’s private driver, Happy, behind the wheel. After forced pleasantries, they clambered in the back. Traffic crawled by, and Steve’s leg started to jiggle by the third red light they hit in a row. Bucky stared out the window, unblinking as he took in the pedestrians and yellow taxi cabs. The ride was quiet and tense.

Once outside the Tower, Bucky stared at up at it for a split second. “I don’t know why I thought it would be different,” he said with a shake of his head before he headed inside.

Steve hesitated as he stepped into the elevator. He would have taken the stairs if their apartments weren’t more than a hundred stories up. He swallowed and stared straight ahead as the elevator doors closed in front of him, heart all but thundering in his ears.

Bucky’s eyes rose at Steve’s obvious anxiety. “You okay?” he asked after a beat.

“I don’t like elevators,” Steve said shortly.

Bucky’s expression was almost understanding. “It’ll be over soon,” he said, gesturing to where the screen that announced that they were flying past the fifties now.

Steve held back a wince. “You don’t have to do that,” he said harshly. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look less fine,” Bucky said, eyebrows raised.

“Well, you haven’t seen me over the past year–” Steve broke off before continuing sardonically, “Oh wait, you’ve only been around for the past two months. I was almost getting better then.”

Bucky’s jaw set and he stormed out of the elevator. His apartment door slammed behind him, and Steve flinched.

Steve followed at a slower pace, regret and embarrassment filling him with every step. He stood outside Bucky’s door, and knocked.

Bucky didn’t answer, and Steve could mostly see where he was coming from. Determined not to let this fester, especially this early in coming home, Steve barged in anyway. After they talked, if Bucky still didn’t want to see him, then Steve would respect his wishes.

Maybe Sam and Nat wouldn’t have left for Europe yet.

Stepping inside Bucky’s apartment was like walking into a time machine. The place was virtually untouched since Steve had been there last, since the night before Chicago. His mindset had been so different, high from kissing Bucky for the first time and frustrated that it was all going to be snatched out of hands before anything could come of it. It was like putting himself into the mindset of an old storybook character.

He heard the shower going, and the sounds of water spray hitting tile.

Steve glanced around, taking in the clean kitchen, Bucky’s favorite couch in front of the television where they’d wasted too many hours watching shitty movies with Natasha, the spot on the floor where Lucky peed because Bucky hadn’t let him out in time because he was hungover. The blinds were drawn, blocking the view of a darkening Central Park. The yellow-orange lights of the city at night still spilled through the cracks, giving everything a fuzzy glow.

He absentmindedly got himself a glass of water, and one for Bucky too. He sat down at the island on the kitchen counter and waited. Head in his hands, he closed his eyes as if that could block out his thoughts, the endless questions that only Bucky had a hope of answering.

The water shut off, and Bucky was standing beside him, half-naked but for a towel slung around his waist and a terrifying expression on his face.

“What are you doing here?”

Steve sat up a little straighter, hands tingling like he was prepping for a fight. “Are you really going to lecture me about bursting in uninvited?” he asked, raising unimpressed eyebrows.

Bucky’s scowl deepened. “What do you want.” It wasn’t phrased as a question.

“Can we talk?”

Bucky didn’t respond at once. “You’re not going to let me go until we do, right?”

“Probably not,” Steve said shortly.

“Wonderful,” Bucky said bitterly, adding with a wave of his hand, “Well, get on with it.”

“Er,” Steve said, his blush probably visible like a neon sign even in the darkening room. “Can you put on some clothes first?”

Bucky looked down at himself, as if surprised at his own state of undress. “I – sure.” He slunk off to find clothes and reappeared seconds later, wearing sweat pants and a tee shirt that had seen better days. Steve was almost positive Bucky had grabbed them out of the gym clothes pile.

“Let’s move,” Steve said as he grabbed his glass of water and thrust the other at Bucky once he was in reaching distance. He didn’t wait for Bucky’s reaction, and instead flopped down at one end of the couch. He stared at the blank television screen in front of him, and felt more than saw Bucky gingerly take a seat at the far end. “Comfortable?” he asked.

Bucky nodded, looking confused and more than a little vulnerable without his scowl and hair in front of his face. His hair didn’t look like it’d been cut at all in the past year, hanging loosely down to his chin. Slick with water from his shower, Bucky had pushed it back and out of the way, but Steve doubted that it would dry like that.

“Well?” Bucky demanded after a moment of heavy silence.

“What?” Steve asked, a little more belligerently than he’d planned.

“You wanted to talk, so talk,” Bucky said with a grand sweep of his hand.

Steve swallowed and took a sip of his water. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“The beginning?” Bucky tried as he avoided Steve’s gaze, poking instead at a hole in his tee shirt near the hem.

“Alright then.” Steve set his water down and crossed his arms across his chest. “How did you survive Chicago?” His eyes narrowed. “Or did you not, and HYDRA was messing around with Life magic?”

“I’m not a zombie, Steve,” Bucky said sharply, the very picture of affront. “Course I’m me.”

“Of course,” Steve muttered. He stared at Bucky, who fidgeted under his gaze.

“The shield,” he muttered. “I couldn’t get anyone under there with me, but it protected me from being crushed to death or smashed by the falling building. Most of the heavy debris just slid right off.”

“SHIELD said they found the shield by y-your body,” Steve said. He clenched his hands in his lap and stared at them. “I saw it. I went to your funeral.”

Bucky was quiet when he finally spoke, his voice strained. “That was all Pierce. SHIELD – HYDRA, whoever they were that day, took me. I heard them laughing about it; how they’d gotten away with stealing an Avenger right from under their noses. Replaced me with whatever you really found down there.”

Steve couldn’t speak for a moment. Throat tight, he just looked at Bucky, who was fiddling with the glass between his fingers. “And after?” he choked out.

Bucky looked up at him. “Do you really want to know?”

Steve nodded.

“They wiped me,” he said in a dull, detached voice. “Hit me with so many memory wiping spells that I forgot my own name. I was powerful – more powerful than any other familiar they had. They told me that HYDRA was responsible for it. That if I disobeyed or stepped out of line they’d take it all away. I didn’t know any better, so I believed them.” He ran a hand down his face, blinking rapidly. “The magic felt right. It was all your magic, Steve, so of course it felt right at fucking home. I had no idea – I didn’t know that I’d taken your magic. I had no idea.” He swallowed and looked away, staring without seeing at the blinds blocking their view to the world.

“Bucky,” Steve stared, but Bucky cut him off.

“But you got it back, right?” he asked. “You can do magic now. I saw you.”

Steve nodded, twisting his fingers absently. The water in his glass filled itself nearly to the rim. “I can. It’s like when we were Bonded.”

“I – are we not Bonded anymore?” Bucky asked, eyebrows drawing together. “I thought… I felt you. Earlier.”

Steve shook his head, reaching out to grab Bucky’s wrist. “We’re still Bonded,” he reassured. He squeezed once before he let go.

Bucky didn’t look comforted. He shifted, curling a little in on himself. “I had no idea,” he repeated. “I didn’t mean to. I wouldn’t have, if I’d known.”

Steve recoiled. It would’ve hurt more if Bucky had cut him with a slicing spell. Steve had been through a year and a half of being not Bonded to Bucky, and he wouldn’t wish to repeat it in a thousand lifetimes. He’d assumed Bucky would feel the same, but apparently not.

“Then why come back at all?” he asked coldly. “You found me, Bucky. In the middle of nowhere.”

Bucky lifted his head a fraction. “I didn’t know who I was,” he said quietly. “HYDRA had erased everything about me.”

“Then how’d you find me?”

“After a year, I think – I didn’t have a great track record with keeping time when I was with them – something about the magic didn’t start to feel right. It was like it was rotting inside me.” He laid a fist against his sternum. “The scientists were trying to figure it out. They pulled me from missions, did all sorts of tests.” He scowled at the memory, forehead pinched with the memory. “Late, after they must’ve been up for 48 hours doing all sorts of things to me, they overlooked the restraints. I escaped.” He shuddered. “It was like your magic was pulling me in the right direction. I could breathe easier; I could think straight. I went north, kept going until I found you.”

“And, uh, did that make you feel better?” Steve asked hesitantly. “When you found me?”

“Yeah, a little,” Bucky said, one corner of his mouth lifting into a lopsided smile. “It helped.”

Steve frowned at the memory. “But you _bit_ me.”

Bucky actually laughed at that. “I’m sorry.”

Steve pulled up his sleeve to stare at the faded imprint of teeth over his Bond mark. Bucky leaned over, tracing his finger over both. He drew back as Steve shivered beneath his touch, eyes wide.

“No, it’s fine,” Steve said hoarsely. “It just tingles.”

Still Bucky sat back at his end of the couch, looking more closed off than ever.

But Steve was determined to press on, get the full story out of Bucky. Then he’d let him go. If Bucky didn’t want to be Bonded to him anymore, if HYDRA had ruined that too, then Steve wouldn’t force him. He wouldn’t ever force Bucky into a situation where he thought he had to obey another master that he didn’t want. Call him dramatic, but Steve would rather die first.

“Why’d you bite? Is it because you didn’t remember me? You remember now, right?” Steve asked, peering at Bucky’s still form in the dark.

Bucky shifted. “I remember you,” he said quietly. “After I bit you – your blood did something. Maybe all HYDRA’s fucking around with Blood magic was good for something. Made me sensitive to it, or… I don’t know. It all started coming back after that.”

“Oh.”

Bucky shrugged. “Not in order though.”

Steve drained his water glass for something to do, and fiddled with it in the ensuing silence. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” Steve asked, unable to hold it in any longer. “You must’ve known at least towards the end.”

“Did I?” Bucky spat with surprising vehemence. “Friend? Partner? Teammate? Lover? They were all jumbled up here for so long.” He gestured to his head angrily. “I’m still not sure what we are, Steve.”

“What? We’re –” but Steve broke off, not quite sure where that sentence would end. He had no idea if Bucky wanted any of that anymore. “We can figure it out,” he said firmly.

Bucky just sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. “Steve, it’s getting late. I’m going to turn in.”

“What? Okay,” Steve said as he bit back the arguments that were still on the tip of his tongue. He turned back as he reached the door, not wholly unsurprised to see that Bucky hadn’t moved an inch. “You’ll be here, right? Tomorrow?”

Bucky gave him a solemn nod. His hair fell in his face, shielding him from Steve’s prying eyes.

After everything, Bucky deserved for his privacy to be respected.

Steve left.

* * *

Steve felt like his body had been put through the wringer, but his head couldn’t quiet down. His phone showed him it was only nine at night, but he should’ve been able to get to sleep considering all that had gone down since he’d gotten up that morning. Eventually, he made his way to the bathroom and shook out two sleeping pills left over from before he’d left the Tower, when he was still in the midst of fresh grief. Tony was the one to suggest them, but gave him strict instructions to stick to the recommended dosages and not try any funny business.

Steve hadn’t done anything to hurt himself, but the first time he’d stood in his bathroom, contemplating differently, he’d thrown the whole bottle back in the cabinet and driven north the next day.

Steve carefully shook out the proper number of pills and swallowed them down with a handful of water. He straightened up, taking in his unkempt, slightly greasy hair, the bags under his eyes, and the worry lines in his forehead that seemed deeper than the last time he’d looked in the mirror.

He fell asleep, but woke up gasping at four-thirty in the morning, hand outstretched to reach Bucky at the end of that elevator shaft.

He was on his feet before conscious thought caught up to him. He paused, glanced askance at his rucked sheets before bolting for the door. Doubt curdling in his stomach, he paused with his fist raised in front of Bucky’s apartment. He had stood in his spot more times than he would ever care to remember, at war with himself. Seeing if he had the guts to knock and make it all real, escape the terrible limbo where Bucky was at once dead and not-dead.

Steve was done being a coward and running away.

The sound reverberated around the empty hallway like an accusation.

Heart sinking in his chest, Steve swallowed as the silence dragged on. He couldn’t have dreamed up that Bucky had come back. He wouldn’t have dreamed up such a horrific explanation why Bucky stayed away for so long. He wasn’t that insane.

A muffled curse broke through his mental spiraling, and Steve exhaled a loud breath of relief as Bucky tugged the door open.

“Steve?” he asked groggily. “You couldn’t text me like a normal person? I had to wake up to a single knock on the door like a horror movie?”

“I didn’t think-”

Bucky cut him off with a roll of his eyes. “Do you ever?” He opened the door wider to let Steve in.

Steve offered him a grateful look as he stepped inside. He hovered by the door, unsure of what Bucky wanted to do next. To his surprise, Bucky led him to the bedroom. “I’m still tired as hell, but if want to have another heart-to-heart, we might as well do it where I’ll be comfortable.” He sat down on the bed.

Steve paused in the doorway.

“What, getting gun shy now?” Bucky asked with raised eyebrows. “We’ve shared a bed before.”

“I – it’s not that,” Steve said as he took a step closer, eyeing the bed like it was going to jump up and swallow him whole. “Are you okay?”

Bucky snorted. “Probably not, but when has that ever stopped you?”

Steve’s lips quirked up into a half smile as he slowly sat down on the opposite side of the bed. Back against the headboard, he stared at Bucky who was wringing his hands in his lap as he sat cross-legged on top of the covers on his side. “You seem… different. Than last night, I mean.”

“Getting a decent night’s sleep for the first time in a year will do that to you,” Bucky said with a strained smile. “It was hot as hell under all that fur, and before, I was – well. I wasn’t really staying in five-star hotels, if you catch my drift.” He pushed back his long hair from out of his face, grimacing as it slid right back into place a second later.

“You didn’t have to stay a wolf,” Steve said quietly. “You could have turned back.”

Bucky bit his lip. “It was simpler that way.”

“It was simpler to let me believe that my best friend had died?” Steve asked bitterly. “It was simpler to let me think that I was going insane for trusting a wild animal in my home?”

Bucky ducked his head, an embarrassed flush rising to his cheeks. “It was simpler for me,” he said to the sheet he was twisting between his fingers. “I couldn’t answer a lot of the questions you’d have. I couldn’t – I couldn’t be what you wanted.”

“We could still-”

“No we can’t,” Bucky said fiercely. “Don’t tell me that it’s going to be the same as before because it’s not. There’s no way you could-” He broke off with a sharp inhale of breath. “I thought I’d have more time,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“More time for what?”

Bucky met his gaze. “You want the real reason I didn’t turn back into myself? I wanted more time to pretend that everything would be fine when you found out who I really was.”

“Bucky,” Steve said, a note of pleading creeping into his tone, “How could I be anything less than thrilled when I found out who you were?”

“The Winter Soldier?” Bucky said hatefully. “Because that’s who I really am; that’s who you were harboring in your safe house for four months. That’s who attacked you that first night, and that’s who you’re getting now.”

“No-”

“Don’t pretend, Steve,” Bucky spat. “I’ve done enough pretending for the both of us.”

“Bucky,” Steve said as he leaned in closer, slowly, to give Bucky time to shove him off, “I don’t believe that for a second. You’d never hurt me; you’d never hurt our friends. You’re different than I remember, sure, and I might never know the full extent of what HYDRA did to you, but that doesn’t mean you’re a different person now that you’re home.” He tilted Bucky’s face up, brushed some of his hair out of his face.

Bucky shook off his touch, and a bit of Steve died inside. “I killed people, Steve. People who didn’t deserve it. People who had families, who knew better than to trust HYDRA.” He broke off, swallowed, and continued, “You can’t be Bonded to someone like that.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “That’s tough, because I am.”

Bucky licked his lips, drew in a ragged breath, and said, “Not for long. I’m going to figure out how to break it tomorrow.”

Steve’s heart stopped momentarily in his chest before starting up again in double-time. He jerked backwards, nearly falling off the bed. “You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I am,” Bucky said resolutely.

“Bucky – you don’t have to do that,” Steve said quickly. “If you’re doing it because you think that’s what I want, you couldn’t be more wrong. Being Bonded to you is all I’ve ever wanted since I was thirteen.” He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to see Bucky’s face and get his next words out. “But if you don’t want me, if you’d rather walk away from all of this, I’d understand.”

Bucky looked at him blankly. “Walk away?”

Steve bit his lip to get a handle on himself. “If that’s what you want. If – If you need to start over, get away from all of this,” he gestured to the Tower and the window showing the lightening New York streets, “then I shouldn’t stop you. You can choose, Bucky. You have a choice.”

Bucky didn’t say anything for a moment, the longest moment of Steve’s life.

“I won’t love you any less if you need an escape,” Steve said, glaring down at his lap as he quietly fell to pieces. “God knows, I’d understand if everything here just reminds you of something you can’t have anymore.”

“Not everything.”

Steve almost didn’t hear him. His head whipped around as he stared at Bucky.

“You mean it?” Bucky asked, scowling. “You want to stay Bonded?”

“Not if you don’t.”

“Steve.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I want to stay Bonded to you. It felt like I wasn’t Bonded for the past eighteen months, and it was living hell.”

“Even if I’m like this?” Bucky asked, voice small. “This isn’t what you signed up for at thirteen. I wouldn’t hold you-”

Steve smiled. “I don’t care. I love you.”

Bucky’s shoulders drooped. Steve reached out to gently maneuver his body so Bucky was lying down on the bed, his head resting on Steve’s stretched out legs. “I’m sorry you ever thought there’d be a version of you I didn’t want to be Bonded to,” he said in a low voice as he ran a hand through Bucky’s hair.

Steve’s heart lurched in his chest as he felt the damp spot spread on his pajama pants where Bucky’s tears were falling. “I love you too,” Bucky said after a moment.

“Good,” Steve said gently. “Glad that’s settled.”

Bucky nodded against his leg. “You want that too?”

“I want everything.”

* * *

They stayed like that for an hour, talking quietly between themselves as Steve shared what he’d been up to before Bucky caught up with him in Maine. In turn, Bucky spoke a little more about what HYDRA had put him through. Bucky was still holding back, but Steve didn’t press him for more information. If Bucky felt like talking more about it, then he would.

“And then I found you, and your stupid little garden,” Bucky was saying. “And I didn’t know you from Adam, but your magic did.” He bit his lip. “I’m sorry again for biting you. Obviously, I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known better, but at least it jump started the memories.”

Steve ventured after a moment, “What did you remember first?”

Bucky didn’t answer at first, blushing so hard the red was visible even in the semi-darkened room. “Coney Island,” he muttered. “We were at Coney Island, waiting at the end of the line for the Cyclone.”

Steve paused. “Coney Island? That’s funny – I had a dream about that a couple of weeks ago. Out of the blue. Do you think-?”

Bucky snorted. “Do I think what?”

“That it’s a coincidence?” Steve asked.

“You really are dumber than you look,” Bucky said, but his words held no heat. They sounded almost fond. “It was more than a coincidence, or my dream sharing spells are a lot worse than I thought.”

“What?”

Bucky pushed himself into a sitting position. “You thought that was just a dream?”

“Of course I did!” Steve cried. “You were dead!”

“No, I wasn’t,” Bucky said with a smirk.

“How the hell was I supposed to know that?” Steve demanded. “You wouldn’t tell me. You’d been living with me for months.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “I did tell you.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did,” Bucky argued. “At Coney Island, remember? I told you I wasn’t dead. And you didn’t believe me.”

Steve went white as his face drained of color. “But – that was just my subconscious –”

“How did you survive this long?” Bucky said, throwing up his hands. “That wasn’t you – that was me. Did you really think you were the one to come up with Pierce’s master plan in your sleep too? I was there, right smack in the middle of HYDRA for the past year and a half. I heard everything.”

“I – you?”

Bucky frowned as Steve continued to flounder. “Did I break you?”

Steve shook his head and held up a hand. “Those dreams, that was you? And I didn’t believe you. You were trying to tell me, but I just left you there-” He broke off, his breath coming in short gasps. “You were there the whole time and I didn’t see – I couldn’t see what was in front of my goddamn face –” He sucked in a lungful of air, his hand reaching up to press on his sternum as he couldn’t get enough oxygen to form another coherent thought.

“Steve? Steve!” Bucky shuffled around on the bed so he was right in Steve’s face.

Steve skittered back in alarm and nearly brained himself on the headboard.

“Fuck,” Bucky cursed. He placed his hand on Steve’s chest, fingers splayed as he muttered a calming spell. The tendrils of Bucky’s magic, his familiar’s magic, seeped inwards, and Steve’s heart stopped thundering in his veins and his lungs stopped hyperventilating. Bucky sat back, eyeing him warily. “Don’t do that again,” he said harshly.

“And here I thought you’d have all the issues when he got back together,” Steve said weakly.

Bucky just shook his head. “Are you okay?”

“I am now,” Steve said as he sat a little straighter.

Bucky moved around so he was sitting next to Steve, their shoulders flush together. “I didn’t think of what you’d gone through.”

“You were dead,” Steve said simply, still a little lightheaded from the panic attack. “And I couldn’t cope. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that you caught me on the upswing once you broke free of HYDRA. I wasn’t okay for a long time.”

Bucky grabbed his hand and squeezed. “But you’re going to be okay now, right?”

Steve pulled him closer and answered him with a kiss.

* * *

They stayed in Avengers Tower, temporarily off active duty. By now SHEILD had finished their final background checks for HYDRA connections, and things had more or less returned to normal. Fury was still as inscrutable as ever, as Tony would tell anyone who would listen that he still didn’t trust him any further than he could throw him.

Tony didn’t have much time to dwell on SHIELD conspiracy theories, though, because he was getting married.

“I can’t believe him,” Steve stormed in to their apartment, just remembering in time not to slam the door. “Why can’t Pepper do this with him? She’s the one marrying the bastard.”

“Because Pepper is busy running a multibillion dollar operation and you and I both know keeping Tony busy is the best method to prevent him from bailing at the first sign of trouble,” Bucky said calmly from where he was checking his email on the couch. The television droned on at half volume in the background, some cooking competition based on the chef hats and looks of intense anxiety from the people on screen.

“But why do I have to be the person to keep him busy? Bruce is his familiar!”

Bucky shrugged. “Bruce has his science stuff. I think he just signed a book deal to get out of wedding planning. He’s going to write books for more nerds. He’s busy. You’re not, as Tony keeps telling you.”

Steve switched the channel with a wave of his hand, glaring at the screen. “No more food. No more flowers. No more fucking place cards. I am fucking done. Did you know, the florist – from Canada, not that’s any excuse not to know who Tony Stark is – thought we were the ones getting married? I wanted to strangle Tony.”

“Why?” Bucky asked, looking up.

“Because he played along with it!” Steve exploded as he flopped down on the couch. “He made up this whole ridiculous backstory that we were in high school sweethearts getting married after ten years together, and that we would’ve gotten hitched years ago but I got slapped with a random case of amnesia, and he had to wait for me to remember our epic romance.”

“So… us?” Bucky said, trying and failing to stifle his laughter.

“I – what? No!”

“You sure about that? Because that sounds like us.”

“No, it doesn’t!”

Bucky patted Steve’s arm sympathetically. “A little bit.”

Steve frowned. “It doesn’t,” he repeated, but it wasn’t nearly as confident as before.

“Steve,” Bucky said seriously as he put his phone down and turned to face him properly. “I’ve had one year to come to terms with what happened to us, and Tony’s got it exactly right.”

Steve huffed. “I hate him.”

“Yeah, he really doesn’t do subtle,” Bucky sighed. He ran a hand through his hair distractedly. “At least it’ll be over two months.”

“If it happened tomorrow, it still would be too late,” Steve said darkly. “He asked me to ask you to be the ring bearer five times today.”

Bucky’s grimace deepened. “I don’t suppose he meant for me to walk down the aisle on two feet?”

“He did mention that he had already rigged a dog collar that complimented the rubies set into Pepper’s engagement ring.” Steve pinched his thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. “I was this close to knocking him out into a pile of lilies. But it was a gorgeous display, and I didn’t want to offend the florist.”

Bucky pulled a face. “He does know I’m not a dog anymore, right? I’d scare off half the guests.”

“He likes the shock factor.”

“He would,” Bucky said with a shrug. “Does he have you booked tomorrow to?”

“Just a meeting with whoever is doing the linens,” Steve said as he pulled his phone out and checked his calendar.

“Linens?” Bucky asked with raised eyebrows.

“Tablecloths, napkins, that sort of thing,” Steve said distractedly as he began typing out an angry text to Tony.

“I didn’t know you needed someone in charge of that sort of thing,” Bucky said faintly as he picked up the remote and began flipping channels.

“You don’t,” Steve said without looking at him. “I’m telling Tony I’m not doing it. He can drag Clint or something. He must’ve gotten married to Laura at some point, right? He’s probably actually done this before.”

Bucky made a face. “I don’t know Laura, but I would have pegged Clint for a courthouse wedding kind of guy.”

Steve ran a tired hand down his face. “Probably,” he said morosely. “I don’t suppose Tony could be convinced to drop this whole thing and go to the courthouse tomorrow? He’s told me privately he actually doesn’t want a huge party.”

“SI is a huge company,” Bucky argued. “Tony and Pepper would offend a lot of people if they took the jet to Vegas. Plus, hell would freeze over before Pepper would allow an Elvis impersonator within a hundred miles of her wedding.”

Steve laughed. “I’ve seen their guest-list. There are five hundred people on there.”

A little taken aback, Bucky didn’t say anything for a moment. “That’s a lot of people,” was all he said, face blank.

Steve sank further into the couch, slumping a little now that most of his anger at Tony had drained out of him. “Yeah,” he said, and let the silence fall between them. Neither of them did well in crowds anymore, Steve because he was too used to being alone save for several hundred trees, and Bucky because he was still suffering from leftover paranoia of strangers.

Bucky picked up the remote again and switched to a rerun of some 80s action movie. He raised his legs without tearing his eyes away from the screen and propped them up on Steve’s lap. Steve ran a hand down Bucky’s jean-clad thigh, not looking to start anything, just enjoying the feeling of Bucky next to him. Bucky met his eyes briefly, his mouth quirking up into a smile. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed.

It still amazed him how he and Bucky fit together as a couple. There were times that Steve clung on a little too tight, monopolizing Bucky for days on end and unable to suppress his mostly irrational fear that Bucky would be taken from him. In turn, Bucky could be a little closed off when he couldn’t get out of his own head and required more alone time than Steve was sometimes willing to give. They found that when Bucky needed space and Steve couldn’t let Bucky out of his sight, they could compromise with Bucky brooding in their apartment and Steve up in the common areas sporadically tugging on the Bond to convince himself that Bucky really was okay. But otherwise, they fit together exactly as they did as best friends, just with more.

“What would you like?” Bucky’s hesitant voice cut through Steve’s thoughts.

“Like?” he repeated.

“If you get married,” Bucky said, meeting Steve’s confused gaze squarely. “Do you want five hundred of your closest friends around?”

“Buck, I maybe have ten friends in total,” Steve said honestly. “There’s no way I’d like any more than that. Smaller, even, would be ideal.”

Bucky nodded to himself.

Steve swallowed, flush creeping up his cheeks as he asked, “You?”

Bucky started, and then grinned. “Yeah, of course I’ll be there.”

Steve hit him lightly in the stomach. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah, small sounds good.” Bucky groaned. “I – uh – we’re both on the same page, right?”

Steve snorted. “As much as you can be without outright saying anything.”

“Don’t tell Tony. He’ll be insufferable.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Why’s that?”

“Because he’s been bugging me to ask you to marry me for months,” Bucky ground out. “Seemed to think he was doing you a favor, bullying me into proposing. He even bought a ring, presumptuous jackass. Don’t worry, I threw it back in his face. I told him that I’d pick out my own damn ring, and that patriotic gemstones were tacky. I still can’t believe he only found out your birthday was on the 4th last year.”

Steve buried his head in his hands.

“He threatened that he’d start dropping hints to you if I didn’t up my game,” Bucky added. “Guess I took too long. Sorry.”

Steve’s eyes widened in realization. “So that’s what he meant by the whole debacle at the florist?”

“Probably,” Bucky said, scowling. “Like I said, he wouldn’t know subtly if it smacked him in the face.”

Steve snorted. “Apparently neither would I.”

Bucky reached a hand to wrap around the back of Steve’s neck and pulled him in for a quick kiss. “That’s okay. We’re both pretty dense. It took us a whole damn decade to get together – and you know what they say about old dogs.”

“I don’t know,” Steve said casually, “I’ve definitely learned some new things in the past year.”

“Yeah, well I hope you did,” Bucky grumbled. “Seeing as I don’t have the right equipment for all of your old tricks.”

Steve punched him in the shoulder. “Hey, I know for a fact you enjoyed 90% of them.”

“Sure have,” Bucky said, licking his lips suggestively as he looked Steve up and down.

“I – uh, before we head to the bedroom,” Steve said, his blush returning in full force. “I – you want to get married? To me?”

Bucky’s gaze softened. “Yeah, I think I do.” He took Steve’s hand in his, thumb rubbing the bare band of skin on Steve’s third finger. “I haven’t gotten around to getting a real ring or anything, but if you want to take a trip down to the jeweler’s any time soon – or not soon, there’s no real rush – I wouldn’t say no.”

“Neither would I.” Steve got up, tugged Bucky to his feet, and led him deliberately to the bedroom.

Bucky grinned against Steve’s mouth as his hands undid the button of Steve’s jeans. Steve groaned as Bucky shoved him through the semi-open door and all but pushed him down on the bed. He let out an involuntary breath of air as Bucky crawled over him and began to suck what was probably going to be an impressive hickey into the side of neck at the hinge of his jaw. “Love you,” he gasped.

Bucky pulled back, lips a little swollen. He was already shucking out of his pants with one hand, but his reverent gaze didn’t leave Steve’s face. “I love you too,” he said, “More than anything.”

Steve swallowed. “Want to do something impulsive?”

“I – I still need prep for that,” Bucky said, pulling a face.

Steve laughed, high and breathy. “No, jerk. Do you want to really get back at Tony for everything?”

Bucky kicked his pants away and glared at Steve. “You have to mention Tony? Now?”

Steve grimaced. “Shut up. You want to hear my idea or not?”

Bucky sat back on his heels, his expression irritated. “If it doesn’t include sex loud enough to reach him in his penthouse, probably not.”

“You’re ruining it.”

“You ruined it first by talking about Tony just as I was about to pull my dick out,” Bucky shot back.

Steve bit his lip. “Look, do you want to go to the courthouse this weekend?”

Bucky blinked at him. “I don’t have rings,” he said after a moment.

Steve smiled as he reached up to pull Bucky back down, whispering, “Don’t worry. I’ve got ‘em.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! For those who made it this far, thank you so much for reading.
> 
> art by [Lunalittlelunatic](lunalittlelunatic.tumblr.com) is available [here](https://lunalittlelunatic.tumblr.com/post/164470267751/but-of-course-because-he-was-steve-rogers-and)!

**Author's Note:**

> Endless thanks to my beta, Hannah, who brilliantly pointed out that I had initially waited 40k for the first hints of romance, and was my cheerleader until the end. Thank you!


End file.
